Dreams of Her Own (10 page)

“Tell me if that’s centered,” Ian said, breaking into her lewd thoughts.

“I’ll have to let go of the ladder.”

“Fine.”

She stepped back and almost fell backward off the step.
Get a grip
,
Silly Millie.
Quickly eying the garland for symmetry, she took a little longer to enjoy Ian. Arms over his head, muscles rippling beneath his snug T-shirt, and that butt. The one she’d wanted to bite a few seconds ago. Feelings of lust shot through her leaving her breathless and dizzy. She finally understood the meaning of ‘climb him like a tree.’

“How’s it look?”

“Oh! Fine. It’s fine.” The thought bubble above her head said, ‘Oh so fine.’

Ian tucked the garland behind the nails, securing it, and Millie took up her position again, holding the ladder and trying not to ogle Ian’s butt. Lost cause, that.

No tool belt today. She’d begun to have fantasies about Ian and that tool belt. Like Ian in nothing but that tool belt.

The memory of his hands at her waist as he caught her. The feel of his body against hers as she slid down it, all hard and lean. She wanted to press her cold hands to her hot face and neck, as an unfamiliar ache settled between her thighs.

“That ought to do it.”

Yes, Millie thought, that ought to do it.

Chapter 12

Later that evening, Ian perched against his bike and watched as Millie stepped out of her apartment building, pulling her coat around her against the December chill. Smiling to himself, he shook his head at her awkwardness.

Yet, he recalled with some degree of lust, the feel of her body as she’d slid down his.

She was one big accident waiting to happen. He wondered how on earth she’d come this far in life without serious injury. For all he knew, maybe she hadn’t.

Before she got too far down the sidewalk, three teenagers sidled up next to her, clearly a little too close for Millie’s comfort. And his.

“Hey, Mousey Millie. What’s up? Got a hot date tonight?” the apparent leader asked, causing the others to laugh.

Millie put her head down and kept walking.

Ah, hell.
Nothing he hated more than bullies. He pushed off his bike and stepped out of the shadows. “As a matter of fact, she does. With me.”

The three thugs looked up with a start, as did Millie.

Ian approached them, noting the smart-ass grins on their faces.

“Really?” the punk-ass leader asked, his expression dubious.

“Really.” Ian wrapped his arm around Millie’s waist, gathering her in close, and then stepped into the ringleader’s space, staring him down. “And if you call her Mousey Millie again, you better hope I’m not around to hear it.”

“Dude,” the leader said, hands in the air, “we were just joking. We didn’t mean any harm, did we, Millie?” He reached out to touch her like they were best buds, then thought better of it.

Ian looked down into Millie’s surprised face. “You ready to go, babe?”

She just nodded.

“Good.” He put his arm around her and headed in the direction of his bike.

“Dude must have a thing for the homely,” the leader muttered.

“Shut up, man,” one of the others ground out.

Ian turned, putting Millie behind him, and strode up to the now-quaking dumbasses. “You were saying?”

“Um, nothing, man,” one of the other idiots muttered.

Ian leaned in. “Beat it. I don’t want to see so much as your shadow when we get back. Understand?”

They nodded in unison.

“Now get!” They turned tail and ran.

“Punk ass kids.” Ian strode back to Millie, gathered her close. “They do that often?” He felt her nod against his chest, where the anger simmered. “Next time tell them to go fuck themselves.”

Millie laughed, and his heart swelled at the sound. “And where are you going after dark alone?”

Pushing back, she eyed him with a frown. “Drugstore. I have a headache and I’m out of aspirin. What are you doing here? And why did you tell those boys that we have a date?”

Why was he here?
He didn’t know, but now that he was . . . “I live nearby and stopped for dinner at,” he looked around, “the diner over there,” he said, pointing across the street. “You eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Good. Have dinner with me?”

“I– Really?” Her frown turned to confusion, as color flooded her cheeks.

“Sure.”

“O-Okay.”

“See there, now you have a date.”

Millie slid in
to the booth across from Ian, still totally confused by not only his appearance outside her apartment building, but also his offer of dinner.

She’d never been on a date, if that’s what this was. Most likely it was Ian just being nice, or worse, feeling sorry for her.

The waitress, who always looked like she’d stepped out of an episode of
Happy Days
, brought menus over. She glanced up at Ian to see that he hadn’t picked up the menu, but rather surveyed the other diners. Millie didn’t need to read the menu either since she ordered takeout from the diner about once a week, but she was thankful to have a reason not to talk until she could get her nerves under control.

All too soon that excuse fled when the waitress returned to take their order.

Millie ordered her usual, the roast turkey and mashed potatoes.

“How’s the meatloaf?” Ian asked.

The waitress leaned over and muttered, “Nothing to write home about. If I were you I’d order the beef stew.”

“Fine. And just water to drink.”

“How long have those idiots been taunting you like that?” Ian asked as soon as the waitress left to put in their orders.

Millie didn’t want to talk about it. “It’s nothing. Can we just talk about something else?”

Ian lifted a brow but changed the subject. “Thought you had a headache?”

“I do.”

“Order a soda, that always helps me if I can’t get my hands on an aspirin.”

Millie nodded.

As Ian flagged down the waitress again, Millie took a moment to appreciate the virility that was Ian. He wore his usual leather jacket, but he’d unzipped it to reveal a black T-shirt. His hair was disheveled from his motorcycle helmet, and curled around his jacket collar. She wondered if it would feel silky to the touch. In sharp contrast, his face bore a couple days’ growth.

As he turned back to her he rubbed his hand across his chin, and the scraping sound sent chills skittering across her skin. His gray eyes gazed into hers, and she remembered each human eyeball weighs about an ounce.

“Millie?”

“Hmm?”

“You okay?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because I asked you a question and you didn’t respond.” A half-smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh.” Heat slid up her neck and into her face. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”

“Have you lived in Williamsburg long?” His eyes held hers and she swallowed.

“About six years. I moved here from Forest Hills.”

“Forrest Hills?”

“My parents have a house.” The waitress returned with her soda, so she took a sip to relieve her parched throat.

“What do your parents do?”

“They’re literature professors at Barnard College.”

“That’s impressive.” His eyebrows winged up.

“I guess. What about your parents?”

Ian spun his glass of ice water on the table and for a minute she thought he wasn’t going to answer. “My mom died nine years ago, and my dad died when I was five.”

“I’m sorry.” Her heart ached for him.

“It is what it is,” he said, a sad smile ghosting across his features.

“How is your friend?”

He looked up with a start, then said, “She’s hanging in there. She’s home now.”

“That must be a relief. To both of you.”

The waitress slid two plates onto the table. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can get you. Like an antacid,” she said with a smirk before she left.

The corner of Ian’s mouth lifted in response to her remark, and Millie noticed the dimple in his cheek for the first time. She liked how it softened the hard lines of his face.

As he dug into his beef stew, Millie poked around her brain for something to say. “Did you finish Kant’s critiques?”

“Last week,” he said around a mouthful of food. “It was enlightening.”

“How so?”

As he shared his thoughts on Kant, Millie found herself relaxing and nodding along to his comments. If someone had told her she’d be sitting in a diner across from a tattooed construction worker discussing the finer points of Kant’s categorical imperative, she’d have scoffed at them. If they’d told her she’d be on a date with said tattooed construction worker she’d have questioned their sanity.

“Can I get you two anything else?” the waitr
ess asked as she cleared the table. “We have some apple pie that isn’t half bad.”

Ian looked across at Millie, who shrugged. “Sure. A slice of pie and two forks.” He watched the waitress walk away and leaned over the table to whisper, “Waitress of the year, she’s not.”

Millie giggled. Not a high, sparkling sound, but a rich, mellifluous one. Sexy, like her voice, and it sent heat straight to his groin. He wondered if anyone had ever told her she’d make a great phone sex operator.

He’d felt like a creep stalking her tonight, but he was glad he did. Not only did he run off those jerks, he’d really enjoyed his impromptu dinner with her. Of course over the last few weeks he’d discovered her intelligence, but tonight he got a glimpse of the woman beneath all that brown.

A feeling of affection settled over him. He genuinely liked Millie Stephens. Enjoyed her company.

Maybe he should ask her if she’d like to see the public libraries exhibition on New York architecture he’d been itching to see.

The pie arrived and he and Millie dove in. It wasn’t bad. In fact, it was pretty good. He glanced up at Millie to see if she was enjoying it, and noticed a crumb at the corner of her mouth. Where he’d like to press his lips. Instead, he reached across the table with his napkin and brushed it off. The blush that crept into her cheeks made him ache. A blush of shame, not just embarrassment.

“Thank you.” She gazed down in her embarrassment.

“Millie, look at me.”

She lifted her gaze to his, a frown creasing her forehead.

Taking her hand in his, he rubbed his thumb across it. “Everyone does something from time-to-time that’s embarrassing. A little misstep, some spinach between their teeth. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Hell, I once hit my thumb with a hammer in front of a bunch of seasoned carpenters. They never let me forget it, but I survived.”

Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, “But I always seem to make a fool of myself in front of you.”

“Well, I’ll see if I can return the favor sometime and nail my thumb with the hammer.”

She smiled. “I wouldn’t want you to do that. But maybe you could trip or come to Darcy’s with your shirt on inside out sometime.”

He blinked. Her smile actually dazzled him, all the more because it was so rare. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

“All right. I’ll pay the check, then see you home.”

Millie floated home. Even the frigid night air couldn’t damp
en the warmth she felt after her dinner with Ian. Her first date. She nearly let out a girly squeal, but checked herself.

Ian walked next to her, close enough for her to feel his heat, but not touching her. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head. Because, truth was, she wasn’t.

They arrived at the door to her building and her stomach quivered. She wondered if he’d kiss her goodnight.
Of course not, Silly Millie.

“I had a nice time,” he was saying as she gazed up at his mouth, wondering how it would taste.

“So did I.” Did he catch her staring?

“Don’t let those assholes bother you again.”

“I won’t.”

“Goodnight, Millie.”

“Goodnight, Ian. And thank you for dinner.” She tamped down her disappointment as she watched him saunter down the sidewalk to his motorcycle. The roar of the engine punctuated the night as she turned to let herself in.
Sweet dreams, Ian.
She hoped for the same.

The next morning, Ian listened to Chopin on his iPod as he sanded
the window seat he’d built for the nursery. The bookshelves underneath would hold books from
Curious George
right up to
Catcher in the Rye
. Or
Pride and Prejudice
if Darcy had a girl.

Zoning out on the music, he thought about Millie. He hadn’t seen her today, and he wondered where she was. Probably running errands for Darcy.

All weekend he’d found himself thinking about her. Wondering what she was doing. Wondering if she ever got lonely.

He’d had a nice time with her the previous evening. In fact, he’d had more than a nice time. The evening had been a pleasant break from his worries over Ruby, the RFI, and the England job. Millie had made him forget all of that, if only for a short time.

And he’d enjoyed discussing Kant with her, before moving on to discussions of their favorite books. He’d learned they had many favorites in common. Like Pat Frank’s
Alas Babylon
and
Dickens’
David Copperfield
. But he’d also learned she had a soft spot for romance novels, which made sense, given her employment.

There was so much more to Millie than meets the eye, and he of all people should be ashamed for assuming otherwise.

He’d like to get to know her better. If nothing else, they could meet over coffee and discuss books. He stopped sanding. But if he were honest with himself, he would admit he was attracted to her. He felt a kinship to her. She wore her mantle of brown just like he wore his mantle of tough. It protected against the hurt. It cocooned them so that no one could get close. And if no one could get close, no one could hurt you.

Then there was the physical attraction. The overwhelming desire to kiss her goodnight. The zing he’d felt when he’d taken her hand last night. The way her voice turned his mind to baser thoughts. The feel of her body pressed close to him on the bike. And yet she covered it all in a sea of brown.

He wondered what in Millie’s life had so damaged her, and if there was any hope of getting behind the mantle of brown to the real woman beneath.

Millie jumped at the thud from above, followed by a muffled curse. A few second
s later she heard Ian’s booted feet clamoring down the stairs.