As You Wish (6 page)

His shattering release took him by surprise. The sound of her screaming his name. Not Master. Not boy. His name. Because he was the one giving her pleasure. Like she wanted him, not just any hot male. He grabbed the shelf above her to keep from collapsing on her. His tension drained out in a rush, leaving him a heady cocktail of weakness and joy. For a long moment, he leaned there, focused on breathing until he thought he could stand up without falling down. She relaxed, half lying on the table with her hands still behind her back.

He pulled away and tossed the condom in the trash with a smooth motion as he zipped up his jeans. Then he pulled down her skirt for her and helped her stand up. For a moment, she swayed in front of him before she leaned her head on his chest. Her hair tickled across his still-bare skin. His breath caught. That she would lean on him for support never entered his mind. He was used to a more businesslike ending to a session. This seemed dangerously close to affection.

And yet, all day he’d been thinking about when they’d finished last time and she had let him hold her. The delicate weight of her resting in his arms. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Yes.” She sighed.

He cradled her, listening to her breathing even out. “Do you want the blanket? Are you cold?”

“No, I’m not cold.” She placed her hand on his chest, splaying her fingers. “I’ve never felt like this.”

Ryan frowned. Some people had bad reactions after a session. He didn’t want Patricia to be having one. Because she was his boss, he told himself, not because he cared about some spoiled princess.

“So very calm. So relaxed. Boneless.”

He lifted a lock of honey-colored hair off her face. She’d gotten some dirt on her cheek. It somehow made her more human, too human. “That just means we’re doing it right.”

“So this is what it’s supposed to feel like.” She looked up at him. Her wide blue eyes were hazy with pleasure.

Ryan only meant to brush the dirt off her cheek but ended up drawing her lips to his. He tasted her mouth with none of the earlier urgency. She wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt so fine in his arms, the whisper of silk and the taste of peaches.

Turning her mouth from his, she whispered, “Ryan.”

Ryan put his finger over her lips before she could go on. Stopping her hurt, but he feared not stopping her might hurt more. “Don’t say anything you might regret later.”

She frowned, pulling herself out of his arms. “Of course. I should go up to the house. I have some work I need to do.”

“Yeah, me too.” He straightened, cursing himself.

Her gaze skittered across the floor. It made him feel dirty. He should have let her say whatever she was about to. Even if she’d been about to say she wanted the meadow mowed tonight after all, it would have been better than spoiling the mood. “So, what are you doing Friday after work?”

She picked up her case and turned back. “I have a date.”

He nodded, holding disappointment off his face. “Saturday afternoon?”

She smiled. “Okay, here?”

“I’ll let you know.” He turned back to the table before she walked out on him.

She probably
had
been about to ask him about the grass. She wasn’t going to express any feelings for him. Just because he made her feel good didn’t mean she would fall in love with him any more than she would fall in love with the woman who massaged her hands before giving her a manicure. She was still the spoiled princess, and he was still her servant.

It didn’t matter that she had called out his name when she climaxed. Or that she let him hold her afterward.

Chapter Four

Patricia paced from room to room upstairs. She’d barely seen Ryan for two days now. Yesterday morning he’d been mowing the front meadow when she left, and the fact that he was riding the tractor on the far side of the property precluded talking to him. Last night when she’d come home from the hospital she found a note on black paper wrapped around a rose, summoning her to the walled garden at two o’clock Saturday afternoon. The lawn was finished, but he had yet to complete weeding the patio. If she’d had more courage, she’d have gone down to the potting shed to find a pair of suitable gloves. Since she didn’t have any guts, she ruined a pair of opera gloves and left a small pile of pulled weeds on the edge of the reflecting pool like a primitive offering.

Tonight, the offering was missing, and Ryan was still nowhere in sight.

Smoothing the skirt of her summery blue cotton dress over her hips with damp hands, she wondered if she shouldn’t have worn something nicer. She didn’t want to. David would be here soon, and she hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to Ryan.

At least she hadn’t said what she’d wanted to say Wednesday evening. She couldn’t be in love with him any more than she could be in love with the man in the moon. She had responsibilities, and one of those was to marry well and continue the family line. Besides, he didn’t care about her. For him, she was a fun diversion, but nothing more, and he’d proven that with his curt dismissal and vanishing act.

Why did he have to be so sweet, though? Patricia bit her lip. Not just the roses, which she had fallen into the habit of drying and preserving in a silk hat box she’d found in her grandparents’ room. Each time he’d met with her, he’d been so kind afterward. Gently holding and touching her. Making sure she was all right. He’d been annoyed at having nothing better than an old jacket to wrap her in the first time. Last time he’d brought a warm blanket despite the fact that it was at least eighty-five degrees that afternoon.

David’s car rounded the curve of the drive.

Sighing, Patricia headed for the stairs. She had a whole evening with David to get through before she continued her hunt for Ryan. Her life had too many obligations.

When the doorbell chimed, she was already at the bottom of the stairs. She pulled it open, smiling. He wore a charcoal-gray suit with a pale gray shirt and a burgundy tie like he was headed for a big trial. “Hello, David.”

“You look lovely this evening, Patricia.” His golden-blond hair gleamed in the summer sun as he reached for her hand, but she saw disappointment in his eyes. She should have worn a different dress, the pink georgette, maybe, or the burgundy silk so they matched. She could run upstairs and change if he could wait.

“Do you have time to step inside?”

David’s gaze swept over the mansion. “Maybe later. We have early reservations.”

Patricia settled her hand into his and turned to reach for her purse, sitting ready inside the door. As she turned, Ryan stepped around the corner of the house, carrying hedge clippers. He wore black jeans and a crisp white T-shirt that looked too clean for him to have been working in all day, but he had a sprig of hedge snagged in his hair.

Her breath caught in her throat. “Ryan!” she cried.

Forgetting her purse and David, she hurried up the walk toward Ryan. When she reached him, she gazed up at him, realizing she had nothing to say. She opened her mouth, willing something to come out, but nothing did. Her breath froze in her chest. His eyes held a warm familiarity, not the cool annoyance she had seen all summer. Something had changed. He wasn’t the old Ryan anymore, and in every instant of silence that passed, the warmth in his eyes became concern.

“I took care of the grass,” Ryan announced, filling her abrupt silence. “One of the sprinkler pipes is broken down in the southeast corner.”

“Can you fix it?” Patricia asked.

He nodded. His gaze flicked behind her, and David rested a possessive hand on her shoulder. A muscle in Ryan’s cheek twitched. “I’ll get to it next week. For now I’ve shut off the water.”

“David, have you met the estate caretaker?”

“I don’t believe I have,” David said.

“Ryan Wilcox, this is David Hoess. David, this is Ryan. He’s been the estate caretaker for the past seven years.”

“How nice.” David’s hand tightened on her shoulder.

“He’s very proud of the rose garden. It really had fallen to ruin after my grandmother died, but Ryan brought it back to its former glory.” The words felt stiff in Patricia’s mouth, but she couldn’t seem to stop saying them. Her hands itched to reach for Ryan. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin against her palms to assure herself that he was real. But she couldn’t love him. He didn’t love her any more than he might love a toy he played with.

“Lovely,” David said.

Patricia frowned at David’s tone. He sounded sarcastic as if the rose garden was no great accomplishment. She looked at the garden again. It was very beautiful. Ryan had worked hard to make it that way. Her grandmother would be pleased, but David acted as if it meant nothing. She glanced up at Ryan and saw a familiar bitterness in his eyes. She needed to say something to let him know she didn’t agree with David, but she didn’t want David to know she disagreed with him. “You’ll be working in the walled garden tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Ryan said.

“All right. David, are we going to be late?”

“Yes.” David slid his arm through hers, turning her away from Ryan.

Bowing her head, Patricia allowed David to escort her to his Porsche and open the door.

“What time will you be back?” Ryan called, walking closer.

David jerked. “Late.”

“Not too late, I hope. I was up early.” Patricia stepped between them, hoping to defuse the tension.

“I’ll leave the gates open, then.” Ryan smirked.

“That’ll be fine.” Patricia peeked at David in time to see a glimmer of pure hatred. She glanced at Ryan and saw the old impassive expression back on his face, but something ferocious glittered in his eyes. She supposed if this were the savanna and they were lions, they would be trying to slaughter each other about now. She ducked into the car, wanting to put distance between them.

* * * *

Patricia chose not to mention the look or the confrontation. Instead she allowed David to prattle on about the exciting world of state politics through dinner and dessert, and ignored the way he snapped at the waitress. Patricia wondered if she could talk him into stopping at the hospital to check on one of her patients. Mrs. Magyar’s surgery yesterday morning hadn’t gone as planned, and instead of going home today, she’d been kept for observation and possibly another surgery.

“Are you dying to know what my news is yet?” David asked.

Patricia smiled to mask her confusion. He had news? Oh yes, he’d mentioned something on the phone. “Yes,” she lied.

“I’m moving back to Whitmer.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m sure your parents are pleased.” Patricia folded her hands in her lap.
Great.

“I had hoped
you
would be pleased.” David raised his wineglass to his lips without breaking their gaze.

“Oh, I am.” Patricia guessed that would mean more dinners with him. She’d have to arrange to have other people come with them so they could talk about something other than state politics.

“I’ve been talking to some people down in Columbus, and they think I have a pretty good chance of winning the governor’s seat in three years. There are just a few things I need to do in the meantime.” He set down his glass.

“Like what?”

“Win the county auditor’s seat next fall, for one. And get married.”

“Do you think you can win the auditor’s seat?” Patricia asked. The word “married” echoed through her mind. Marriage to David would mean a lot of dinners spent discussing state politics and a lot more obligations.

“Do you think I can get married?” David responded. He covered her hand with his. “Think about it, Patricia. What’s that family motto of yours? ‘To those whom much is given, much is expected’? Think how much you could do as First Lady of the state. Think about how much you could do as First Lady of America. It’s not out of the question. With your money and my contacts. We have the Kennedy charm. Think about it.” He leaned across the table. “An attractive, professional young couple with young children. You could do anything as First Lady. You could get quality national health care for the nation.”

“Hillary Rodham Clinton couldn’t get national health care in two terms,” Patricia pointed out. “And aren’t they working on that?” An attractive, professional young couple with young children? He not only had them married, but he envisioned children within the next three years.

“But you’re a doctor with a history of public service from a family known for public service. You’ve seen things. You could change the world by my side.” David’s gaze bored into her for a moment. Then he let go of her hand and sat back. “Think about it.”

Patricia folded her hands in her lap. First Lady. Most of her childhood dreams had involved becoming a doctor and making people better. As First Lady, she could do that on a greater scale than she’d ever imagined.

Then she remembered the last big argument she’d had with David. The summer after her parents died, he’d come home from college and visited her. He’d just declared pre-law and had regaled her with tales of how wealthy and powerful he would be as a lawyer.
“The last arbiter of the law,”
he’d called himself. When she’d asked him about doing good, he’d laughed and called her naive. And when she’d asked if he would sue her for everything if he were on the other side of the table in a false malpractice suit, he’d looked around the room and said he wouldn’t mind having her house.

She’d thrown him out and told him she never wanted to see him again unless it was in court. When he’d called at the beginning of the summer, he’d joked about it not being a courtroom, but would she mind having dinner with him again for old time’s sake? Now after three dinners and a dozen roses, he wanted her to marry him? Have his children? Devote her life to his cause?

“Excuse me, would—”

“Go away,” David snapped.

Their painfully thin waitress jumped back a pace. “I’m sorry if—”

“Go away,” David repeated louder.

“David,” Patricia scolded. She turned to the waitress with a smile. “What was it you wanted to ask?”

The waitress sidled closer to Patricia, shooting nervous glances at David as if he might reach out and smack her. “I just wanted to know if you needed anything else,” she whispered.