The Right Time (13 page)

“I’ve never done an entire vegetarian meal. Cooking for you would be a challenge.”

“Are you saying you’re not up for it?” she asked, a playful lilt to her voice.

“I’m always up for a challenge.” No doubt that was a perfectly innocent remark, but it sounded sexual.

Sophie eased a hand under the hem of her dress and caressed her outer thigh. The skin there was so sensitive.

“That I believe,” she said. “What are you making tonight?”

“Steak with mushrooms and a red wine sauce.”

“I thought you said nothing fancy. That dish sounds complicated.”

“Not at all. The steak goes on the grill, and the sauce will cook down on its own, getting to a thick consistency after about twenty minutes.”

“What are the sides?”

“Cauliflower gratin, and grilled kale and radicchio with a drizzle of a light balsamic glaze.”

Sophie’s eyebrows rose. “You’re cooking your ass off. Sounds delicious.”

And sexy. She conjured an image of him with his sleeves rolled up in the kitchen, while a pot simmering on the stove disbursed the fragrant aroma of the sauce. The muscles in his forearms would ripple as he chopped the mushrooms and sliced the kale and radicchio. She knew he’d be all into the task, concentrating as he worked, his jaw tight as he focused.

Her hand inched toward the edge of her panties.

“If you ate meat, I could save you some,” Ransom said.

“The sides sound good. I could eat those.”

She brushed her fingers between her legs and stifled a gasp. If she was this turned during a perfectly normal, prosaic conversation about food, she couldn’t imagine what would happen if they actually had phone sex.

“You sound odd,” Ransom said.

“I’m fine.”

She did sound odd. Her voice had dropped lower and contained just a hint of breathlessness. Maybe she could rub one out, a quickie, while talking to him. Sophie twisted restlessly with the phone attached to her ear and turned onto her stomach. She rubbed her sensitive nipples into the cushion and closed her eyes, squeezed a hand between the sofa and her hips, and touched herself again.

A needy little whimper escaped.

Her eyes flew open and she became very still. She knew he’d heard her because he stopped moving around. His end of the line had gone completely quiet.

“Sophie?” he said, voice low.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and she cringed, pressing her face into one of the pillows to hide, even though he couldn’t see her. “Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you—”

“I should go. I have stuff to do.”

“Wait a minute, I—”

“Bye.” Sophie hung up.

Right away the phone rang again. She declined the call.

It rang again. She declined again.

Sophie stared at the screen and waited, body tense, breath locked in her lungs.

After a few minutes she realized he wouldn’t call back, and relaxed.

She closed her eyes and sighed in frustration. So much for being friends. She couldn’t even talk to him on the phone without getting aroused.

A ringing phone was the last thing Ransom wanted to hear, but the caller was persistent. He knew because the calls came close together, and despite not answering the first two times it rang, the phone now rang for a third time.

He rolled over and snatched up the phone. “What?” he barked into the mouthpiece.

“It’s worse than I thought.”

The sound of Sophie’s voice soothed and calmed him, but he was in no condition to talk. He had a runny nose, sinus headache, and a bad attitude because postnasal drip had kept him awake most of the night.

“Sophie, I—”

“I know, you’re sick. That’s why you missed the ride this morning and why you didn’t show up for work yesterday. That’s why I’m here.”

For the past three weeks, he’d joined the Cycle Crew on their rides, enjoying the time with Sophie, the rest of the group, and the freedom of the open road. But three days ago he fell ill. He hardly ever got sick and thought he’d caught a summer cold, practically unheard of as far as his immune system was concerned. He went immediately to the doctor and learned he did not, in fact, have a cold, but was diagnosed with a sinus infection.

“What do you mean you’re here?” He rolled onto his back amid the rumpled sheets and pillows.

“I’m in the lobby and coming up, but I wanted to call first. See how polite I’m being?”

Ransom found himself smiling a little. “You should have called before you came over.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Tell me your apartment number.”

“Eleven-oh-one.”

“I’ll be up in a little bit, and you better open the door.”

As if he wouldn’t.

Ransom lay in bed for another full minute, giving himself a pep talk to encourage movement. Groaning loudly, he rolled his achy body to the side of bed and nudged the wicker basket half filled with facial tissues out of the way of his feet.

Coughs caused by postnasal drip racked his body and kept his butt on the mattress. “Get up,” he muttered to himself. He blew his nose and tossed the tissue in the wastebasket.

Passing by the mirror on the dresser, Ransom did a double take. He actually looked worse than he felt. He hadn’t shaved in days, so a healthy layer of hair covered his cheeks and chin. The wrinkles in his sweatpants had wrinkles, and so did the gray sleeveless undershirt. His red nose rivaled Rudolph the Reindeer’s, and strands of hair stuck up in all directions, as if he’d been electrocuted.

He patted down his messy hair and then, too tired to continue, dropped his arm. Screw it. She’d just have to see him at his worst.

Sophie knocked before he made it to the door, but he swung it open, and she stood on the other side, balancing a paper sack on her hip, a neat, curly bun on top of her head. Red, orange, and green bangles circled her wrists and the matching earrings hung in her ears. The bubble-gum-colored lipstick she favored tinted her smiling lips and gave them a moist appearance.

She was radiant, like a ray of sunshine breaking through storm clouds. The sight of her gave a small boost to his inert spirits.

“You look like crap,” she said.

“Thank you.” Ransom sniffed and rubbed a hand under his nose.

“Are you going to let me in, or…?” She cocked a brow.

He stepped aside, and she marched across the threshold in wedge sandals and a pair of skinny jeans that hugged her hips and bottom. He may be sick, but he wasn’t blind.

“Go back to bed. I’ll bring you some chicken soup,” she said over her shoulder on the way to the kitchen.

“You’re going to cook chicken?” He stood in the middle of the living room, confused, but appreciative of her consideration. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken the time to offer him such care. Even Lisa, whom he’d dated for a couple of years, never did anything like this. Between the distance and her work schedule, she couldn’t take the time to be so nurturing.

Sophie paused and wrinkled her nose at him. “Cook chicken? Don’t be absurd.” She reached into the paper bag and pulled out a glass jar. “From the local grocer. Now go back to bed.”

She deposited the container back into the bag and made a shooing motion with her hand before continuing her march to the kitchen. Ransom couldn’t see the activity in there, but heard her moving around, opening and closing cabinets, and sliding open drawers. The smile threatening to make an appearance since she’d arrived finally broke free and spread across his face.

He returned to the bedroom and grabbed a tissue just in time for a sneeze that landed with such force, it threatened to tear his head off. He gladly fell into bed and dragged the covers up to his waist.

The smell of soup wafted through the open door of the bedroom, reminding him he hadn’t eaten much, except for a piece of buttered toast first thing in the morning. He tapped his fingers on the mattress impatiently, his stomach rumbling in anticipation of a decent meal.

When Sophie finally came in carrying a steaming white bowl filled with the fragrant soup, the scent of chicken and fresh vegetables filled the bedroom. He almost leapt on her as she walked carefully across the carpet, balancing the bowl in both hands.

Ransom sat up against the headboard and she handed off the meal.

“I couldn’t find your bed tray. Where is it?” she asked.

“I don’t have one.”

The rising steam brought his congested nose temporary relief. He wolfed down the broth, despite the bland taste. It needed more salt, and he would have added more thyme and celery for extra flavor. While he ate, Sophie took the wicker basket from the room. When she returned, it was empty, and she carried a small plate with some kind of green, tubelike food on it.

“How is it?” she asked when she came back in.

“Okay.” He continued eating, barely stopping long enough to take a breath. “What are you eating?”

“Stuffed grape leaves. Want some?” She sliced one with her fork.

“Not unless they’re stuffed with chicken.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” she said in a singsong voice.

“Pretty sure I do,” he sang back.

She giggled, a sound he knew he’d never get tired of and wished he could hear more often. The thought jolted him. With the Creplar case wrapping up, he’d be moving back to Chicago soon.

Ransom tilted the bowl to his mouth, draining the last of the liquid.

Sophie looked amused. “There’s more, you know. Do you want me to get you some?”

“Do you mind?”

“No, I don’t mind. That’s why I’m here.” She left the room with both their dishes.

Ransom’s head fell back against the headboard. He massaged the area between his eyes, vacillating between happiness she had come and frustration at having to keep from touching her.

Being friends with a woman he’d slept with was pure bullshit.

A few minutes later she reentered the room with another heaping bowl of soup. “Here you go.”

He gladly took it and dug in.

“What medicine are you taking?”

He inclined his head toward the nightstand and the collection of prescription pills. “I think it’s time for another dose, actually.”

Sophie checked the labels and tossed some tablets in her hand. She handed him the glass of water on the nightstand, and Ransom swallowed the pills and went back to eating. He ate the entire second bowl while Sophie puttered around the room. She fluffed his pillows and picked up clothes discarded on the floor, tossing them in the hamper.

When he finished eating, Ransom set the bowl on the nightstand. Time to ask the question uppermost in his mind since her arrival. “Why are you here?”

She paused in the midst of tucking the sheets at the foot of the bed. She seemed uncertain on how to answer the question at first. “Because men are the biggest babies when they’re sick. And…” Her eyes softened. “You need someone to look after you because you’re alone. I guess I’m it.”

“So you feel sorry for me?”

“Something like that.” She walked to the side of the bed and peeped at the bowl. “Finished, I see.”

He caught her wrist. It had been hard, very hard not to touch her when she was so close. The type of restraint needed to resist simply didn’t exist. Certainly didn’t exist within him.

She tried to tug away, but his fingers tightened around her wrist. “Lie down with me.”

Her eyes widened. “What? No.”

“What else do you have to do?”

“I have to wash the dishes.”

“Wash them later.”

His thumb ran back and forth over the slender bones beneath her skin.

“You need to rest.”

She was right. The simple act of eating combined with the meds kicking in sucked his energy and made him lethargic, but he wanted her at his side.

“Rest with me.” Surely she wouldn’t make him beg.

“It’s not a good idea.” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand and let go.

He didn’t care about bad ideas or good ideas, right decisions or wrong decisions. She’d come here into his personal space, and he craved closer contact.

“I promise I won’t try anything.” She had him all out of sorts. He was supposed to be a shark, but Sophie made him as weak and nonthreatening as a damn guppy.

Her shoulders lowered as she weakened. “Just for a few minutes,” she whispered.

He made room for her on the bed, and she lay down beside him. Ransom pulled her close, nudging his face into her jasmine-scented neck.

A sense of peace overcame him. As if he was…home.

It took a few minutes, but slowly her tense body relaxed, and she softened against him. Her supple breasts brushed right below his chin, and, unable to resist, he kissed the twin mounds, prompting her to release a shaky breath through her nose. He caressed her back, moving slowly down to the base of her spine and spawning the width of her sweet ass. That elicited a whimper. She threw one leg over his and did a slow, brief grind against his pelvis.

He was hard and aching, but she felt incredible. Wedged between her thighs, her warm, soft body enveloped in his arms, was the only place he wanted to be. To hell with the fact that she belonged to another man. Right now, in this moment, she belonged to him.

Sophie’s fingers feathered through his hair and massaged his scalp. Brushing a thumb across his brow, she aided in relieving the sinus pressure there. He rested his head against the pillow of her bosom as she continued to gently stroke his hair. Under the gentleness of her calming caress, his eyes fluttered closed and his breathing slowed down.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Before he fell into a deep sleep, he could almost swear he felt her kiss his forehead.

Ransom awoke hours later, still feeling stuffy and achy, but the antibiotics and decongestant must finally be taking root in his body, because he didn’t feel as bad as he had earlier. Sophie was no longer in bed with him, but her scent remained on the pillow. Even through a congested nose, he couldn’t miss the fragrance of jasmine she left behind.

He listened for a minute to the quiet apartment. Had she already gone home?

With no sound to be heard, he set his feet on the floor and went to use the bathroom. When he finished, he blew his nose and slipped his feet into fleece-lined slippers.