Dreams of Her Own (16 page)

“Yeah. Cirrhosis.”

They lay quietly for a few heartbeats, then Millie said, “So, Ruby.”

“So, Ruby.” His hand grazed along her arm. “Now, back to this list. What else is on it?” he asked, clearly seeking to change the subject.

“Get tattoo.”

“Anything else?”

“Not at the moment,” she said, not mentioning the novel. “But it’s a living document.”

“What about eating ice cream in bed? Ever done that?”

She giggled. “No.”

“Babe, you haven’t lived until you’ve eaten Rocky Road in bed.”

“Then I’d better add it to the list.”

He rose in all his naked glory, wide shoulders, narrow hips, firm butt, and headed downstairs. “Now, let’s check it off the list.”

She watched in appreciation as he padded barefoot out of the room. How she wished she could be that uninhibited. That comfortable in her own skin. She didn’t think that was something you could put on a list and just check it off. It, too, would be a lifestyle change.

Oh what a night. Oh what a morning! Millie had no idea that two people could have sex so many times and still want more. A giggle bubbled to the surface. She’d read about the nocturnal penile tumescence phenomenon, also known as the morning salute, but of course she’d never witnessed it. Not only had she witnessed it, she’d put it to good use.

“What are you giggling about, woman?” Ian stepped up behind her, wrapped his hands around her waist, nuzzling her ear.

They’d each had a piece of toast to tide them over until breakfast–all that sex really worked up an appetite–and she stood sipping her tea.

“Just thinking about last night. This morning . . .”

“Mmm. Good thoughts, then.”

“More than good.”

He nuzzled her neck again, brushing her hair aside.

“I think I just heard bells.”

“Hmm.” He nipped at her ear. “That’s a first.”

“Ian? Ian.”

“What?” He pressed kisses along her neck.

“I think it’s your phone.”

“Right.” Releasing her, he bound up the stairs two at a time.

The ringing stopped, and Millie heard Ian answer the phone. “Hi, Ruby.”

Feeling a little hot and bothered all over again, Millie took a deep, calming breath. She needed to refocus her attention or they’d never make it out of the house today.

She wandered over to the desk and picked up the RFP. The questions were pretty straightforward. With all the right information at her fingertips, she could knock this out by day’s end.

As she set her mug on the desk, she bumped into the corner and Ian’s computer woke up. “Tsk, tsk. No password protection,” she muttered. On the screen was a document that appeared to be his draft response.

“I’m jumping in the shower,” Ian called down. “I told Ruby we’d be there before noon.”

“Sounds good,” she said, already preoccupied with the document. From the spelling and grammatical errors, it appeared that he’d dictated the document using voice to text software. There were homonym misspellings you might expect from that type of software. Spying a carelessly tossed aside headset on the desk confirmed her suspicions.

Pulling out the black mesh office chair, she sat down and began editing the document. He’d only drafted responses to the first two questions. Making quick work of that, she minimized the document and opened Ian’s Internet browser, doing a Google search for his company’s website.

“Why put off ‘til tomorrow what can be done today?” she murmured to herself. The fact that she’d be helping him leave her wasn’t lost on her.

Using information she found there, she drafted answers to the next three questions. Ian’s portfolio was impressive. She didn’t realize the level of his expertise in historic preservation and renovation, or the number of famous buildings he’d had a hand in preserving.

She was so engrossed in her work that she didn’t hear him come down the stairs.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Chapter 20

Millie jumped up from the desk with a start. “I, uh, I’m working on the RFP.”

Ian strode over to the desk. “Why would you do that? Is nothing beyond your snooping?” Feelings of shame and fear rose to the surface, taunted by painful memories of teachers looking over his shoulder as he labored over crafting his alphabet and copying sentences onto the lined pages of his notebooks. He wondered what Millie had thought of his messy draft.

“I’m sorry, I was just trying to help.” She picked up her mug and moved toward the kitchen.

“I don’t need your help. If I did, I’d ask for it. Goddammit, Millie.” He turned away, dragged his fingers through his hair. “I’m not trading sex for your assistance.”

“I’m not asking you to.” She stopped and pointed to the computer screen. “Seems to me that this job is pretty important and with everything else you’ve got going on, I can help you with this.”

God, it was so tempting to turn this over to someone else. But could he accept her help and still hide his disability?

Millie was wicked smart. Not just well read. He’d put her skills of logic up against the world’s finest philosophers and scientists. Why would someone with her brains want to be with him?

And with her deductive reasoning skills, it wouldn’t take her long to figure out the truth. He should just tell her. Speak the truth.

But the words embedded themselves in his throat and wouldn’t let go.

Her warm arms came around his torso, her hands finding their way to his chest, as she pressed her firm breasts into his back, and his anger fled. “You know my offer still stands.”

“I thought we’d already put that offer to bed, literally.”

She giggled. “Yes. But I’m talking about my offer to help. No strings attached.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Ian, let me help you.”

Closing his eyes against the lure of that husky voice, he grasped her hands as they headed south. “I’ve apparently made a nymphomaniac out of you.”

He felt her nod against his back. “You have.”

Releasing her hands, he surrendered.

“I’ll just grab
the book and we can go,” Millie said as she unlocked the door to her apartment.

Ian hesitated, then followed her in. He remembered little about her apartment the first time he was there. He’d been more focused on Millie and her sweet body.

The studio apartment boasted a tiny, but newly furnished kitchen right off the front door. Just beyond that, the bed, covered in a white comforter, stood along an exposed brick wall, a built-in bookcase loaded with books served as both the headboard and end tables. Against the far wall a long narrow table held more books and a stack of papers. Finishing out the room was a small armoire against the wall to the left and a loveseat at the foot of the bed. No visible TV. Tidy, but with just enough clutter to look lived-in.

“The book should be on this shelf,” Millie muttered to herself.

Strolling across the confined space, Ian perused the books on the table. Seeing the
Kama Sutra
and
The Joy of Sex
, Ian picked up one in each hand and turned to Millie. “Reading up on the subject?”

Millie pivoted, gasping when she realized what he was holding up. Her face blanched the color of her comforter, then slowly, like mercury rising in a thermometer, turned scarlet.

Spinning, her back to him, she covered her face, shoulders hunched.
Dammit. He hadn’t meant to humiliate her.
Laying the books on the table, he approached her and, placing his hands on her shoulders, said, “Millie. Babe. Don’t be embarrassed. I like that you’re curious. Inquisitive. It’s sexy. And if last night was any indication, it’s been time well spent.”

He reached around, pried her hands from her face, and wrapped her arms around her waist along with his. He nuzzled her ear, enjoying her indrawn breath. “Got any favorites? Any positions you’d like to try?”

“Really?” she asked, her smoky voice barely above a whisper.

His hands glided up her ribcage stopping just beneath her breasts. “Make a list. We’ll check them off one-by-one.”

“When can we start?” The words came out in little pants as he sucked her ear lobe into his mouth.

“Now works for me,” he murmured against her lips.

Carrying two small bags
of groceries, Millie followed Ian into the apartment. She couldn’t wipe the grin off her face. First, she’d seduced him. Not only into having hot wall sex again, but also into letting her help him. Then, after what had been Ian’s humiliating discovery, he’d quickly turned that mortification into unadulterated arousal. They’d checked not one but two positions of her newly created Kama Sutra list: The Perch and The Snail.

“Ruby! It’s Ian. And I’ve brought a friend.”

“Ian?” a feeble voice called from the depths of the apartment.

“Kitchen’s through there,” Ian said, indicating the door to the right. “I’ll just go set the Christmas tree in the living room.” Ian had purchased a mini cypress tree decorated with tiny red and gold ornaments for Ruby. His thoughtfulness touched Millie deeply.

She entered an old-fashioned kitchen, harvest-gold appliances, linoleum flooring, and Formica countertops. Opening the fridge, she put away the eggs, butter, cheese, and milk. Unsure what to do with the bread and the canned goods, she left them on the counter and went in search of Ian.

He was bent over a frail woman in a recliner, pulling a floral blanket up over her chest. “You warm enough?”

“Yes. Don’t fuss.” Ruby caught a glance of Millie. “Who’s this?”

Ian turned with a smile and lifted his hand to Millie. “This is a friend of mine, Millie Stephens. Millie, this is Ruby Sinclair.”

Friend.
She didn’t know what else she expected him to call her. She wasn’t really his girlfriend. The cliché friends with benefits, maybe? She didn’t know how she felt about that label either.

“Hi. Ian has told me so much about you.”

“Too bad I can’t say the same.” Ruby gave Ian a sharp look.

“Have you eaten?” Ian asked, clearly unfazed by Ruby’s admonishment.

“I had some crackers earlier.”

“Crackers.” He released a heavy sigh. “How does an omelet sound?”

“Fine.”

“Good. I’ll leave you and Millie to get acquainted. Millie loves books, and earned her degree in literature with a focus on the Middle Ages from Sarah Lawrence.”

Millie’s gaze shot to his face. He remembered that from their conversation that first night in the diner?

He smiled, then headed for the kitchen.

Millie took a seat on the sofa next to the recliner. “So, you were a librarian?”

“Yes. Forty-three years. New York Public Library System.”

Public library? She figured she’d been the librarian at Ian’s school. “How did you meet Ian?”

“He didn’t tell you?” At Millie’s head shake, she continued, “Not sure it’s my place to tell it, but suffice to say, he used to spend a lot of time in the Sunset Park Library. And what do you do? How did you two meet?”

“I’m personal assistant to an author, and Ian’s doing some work in her home.” She drew her hair over her shoulder and out of her face. She’d worn it down and loose at Ian’s request.

“An author, huh? Who’s that?”

“Darcy Butler.”

“Darcy Butler? I love her books!” Ruby coughed, a deep wracking cough that made Millie wince, then drew in a ragged breath and continued. “Funny. And steamy. I like steamy.” Ruby waggled her eyebrows at Millie, making her laugh. “I haven’t gotten my hands on her latest,
Life is a Cabernet
.”

“Oh, I can bring you a copy.” Millie felt the heat in her face at her presumption. “Or have Ian bring it.”

“You can bring it.”

“I brought you something today.” Millie reached into the depths of her coat pocket and retrieved the book. “It’s Wharton’s
The Age of Innocence
. First Edition.”

Ruby’s rheumy eyes widened. “First edition! No dear, I can’t take that from you.”

“Okay. A loan then.”

Ruby reverently took the book from Millie’s hands, opened it, and read the first page aloud. Then she closed her eyes, a smile ghosting across her gaunt face.

“Would you like me to read to you?” Millie asked.

She looked at Millie, her eyes alight. “Would you?”

“Of course.” Millie took the book and opened it back up to the first page and continued where Ruby had left off.

Ian paused, the plated omelet in his hands, listening to t
hat sultry voice reading
The Age of Innocence
. Only Millie could make the subtle dramatic irony of Wharton read like an erotic novel.

Ruby lay with her head back, eyes closed, a soft smile on her face. Ian’s gut clenched. She looked so frail. So ephemeral. But she also looked happy. Transported.

Bringing Millie had been a good idea. Her beautiful old soul made her a perfect companion for Ruby. Reluctant to interrupt, he placed the plate in the oven on low to keep the omelet warm. He’d noticed a few cabinet doors that needed tightening, and a drawer that didn’t close properly. He’d fix those things and check back later.

“That’s good. That’s really good. Yes. Perfect.”

Ian peered over her shoulder as she typed up the response to the question concerning his previous experience with major historic renovations.

His breath tickled her neck, and she redoubled her efforts to concentrate on the task at hand.

She’d begun reading aloud as she typed, refining his dictated responses, polishing the words until they sparkled like a crystal chandelier.

Satisfied with that response, she rose from her seat. “I could use some tea. Do you want anything?” She’d been making herself at home, at least in his kitchen. And his bed. And she couldn’t forget his shower. Those body sprayers fulfilled some heretofore unknown fantasies.

“No. I’m good.”

Opening the cabinet where he’d stored the fresh boxes of tea they’d picked up that day, it struck her that he’d bought those for her. What did that mean? That he expected her over more often?

Well, of course he did, Silly Millie. You were helping him with the RFP.
Why else?

Putting the pot onto boil, she took out a bag of tea–a soothing chamomile–and thought about the last few hours. How Ian had taken care of Ruby. How he’d listened attentively as she’d read to her. How he’d refused to continue reading when she’d taken a break.

Something niggled at her. Suspicions danced around the edges of her mind. She took the pot off the stove, poured boiling water into her mug, then placed the pot back on the stove. While she waited for her tea to steep, she called out to Ian. “Read the next set of questions.”

Nothing.

“Ian?”

“I, uh, I shut the computer down. We’re done for the night.”

“Oh. We only had a few more questions left.”

He sauntered into the kitchen, lifted the mug to his mouth, and took a sip. “It’s been a long day. I should get you home.”

He’d just confirmed her suspicions.