Dreams of Her Own (9 page)

Chapter 11

Tiptoeing past the bathroom where Ian and his friend, Caleb, were working, Millie paused in the hallway and heard Caleb ask Ian, “How’s Ruby?”

“She’s at the rehab facility another few days, and then I think I can take her home.”

“That’s rough, man. I’m sorry. You let me know if Jillian and I can do anything to help.”

“Yep.”

“Are you almost finished with the RFI?” Caleb continued.

“Haven’t started it,” came Ian’s gruff reply.

“What? Why the hell not? It’s due in, what, a week?”

“Yeah. I’ll get to it. Get off my back about it.”

Just guessing, Millie thought an RFI was a request for information, probably similar to a pre-grant submission. Wonder what Ian’s going after? And what’s it to his friend?

She could probably knock out an RFI in a couple of hours. In high school she’d helped her parents with their grant submissions, and in college she’d taken a job as a grants assistant in the chemistry department.

“Ian, this job could be huge for your business. Don’t you want it?” Caleb continued.

“I said I’d get to it. With Ruby ill I haven’t exactly been sitting around eating bonbons. Jesus, when did you become such a nag? Now can we please finish
this
job?”

“I’m sorry, man. You’ve got your hands full, and I know the timing sucks, but Ruby would want you to focus on this.”

“Fine,” Ian growled.

Millie continued up the stairs to Darcy’s office. If the RFI is so important to Ian’s business, he’d better get on it. It should be top priority on his to-do list. Right behind taking care of his sick friend, of course.

Speaking of lists, she could cross off ‘edit manuscript.’ She set the marked up pages on Darcy’s desk with a sense of satisfaction in a job well done.

A few hours later, Millie had completed another task on her list: Darcy’s latest research questions. She looked out the window and realized it was dark. Darcy, and Josh, always insisted that she leave before dark. While Park Slope was relatively safe, they didn’t like her walking to the subway alone at night. Never mind that she had to walk eight blocks from the Bedford Avenue stop in Williamsburg to her apartment.

Well, couldn’t be helped. Josh and Darcy were at the law firm’s holiday party, so she’d just have to brave it on her own.

Straightening her desk in anticipation of Monday morning, she heard Ian’s footsteps upstairs. He’d put in a long day too. Putting on her coat, scarf, hat, and mittens, she headed for the front door. She picked up her backpack just as Ian got to the bottom of the stairs.

He looked tired, and there was a smudge on his left cheek. Should she tell him? She wouldn’t want to walk around with a smudge on her cheek. Not that anyone would notice. “You, uh”—she waggled her finger at his face—“have a smudge on your cheek.”

He scrubbed at his cheek, missing it. “Did I get it?”

“No. Let me.” She stepped up to him and brushed gently at the spot. “There.” Her hand felt as if she’d just touched a warm blanket.

“Thanks. You just leaving?” he asked as he zipped up his leather jacket.

“Yes. Lost track of time.”

“How will you get home?”

“The subway.” She shrugged on her backpack.

“You’re not walking there alone?”

“Since the subway won’t come to me, I’ll have to go to it.”

His expression grim, he remained silent a moment. “No. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“On your death machine?”

“My what?”

“Your motorcycle.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. A rare sight, one that made her belly tingle and her knees wobble.

“It’s not a death machine.”

“If you say so. But almost five thousand people die each year riding a motorcycle.”

“Yeah, and hundreds of people are mugged each year in New York City. I promise to get you home safely.”

Well, here was her chance to mark ‘death machine ride’ off her GALL. “All right.”

She locked up the house and followed Ian out to the street. He slung his leg over the bike and handed her the helmet.

“What about you? Helmets are required. You’ll get a ticket.”

“I’ll risk it.” He snapped the strap under her chin.

The helmet engulfed her, making it difficult to see. “But what if we’re in a wreck? You could be injured.”

Ian released a throaty chuckle that she felt all the way down to her toes. “My head’s too hard.”

She’d never heard him laugh. She liked it. “But—”

“Get on the bike.”

Eying the bike, she was uncertain how exactly to climb on.

“Just throw your leg over.”

Hmm. Easy for him to say.
She approached the bike, the realization dawning on her that she would be straddling not only the bike, but . . . him.
Sampson and Delilah!

“Come on, Millie. I’m not getting any younger here. And it’s cold.”

She took a deep breath and slung her leg up and over and tried to sit at the far end of the seat, away from Ian.

He twisted around, eying her. “You’re going to have to hold on if you don’t want to find yourself sitting in the middle of the street.”

“Right.” She swallowed, then scooted closer to him.

“Wrap your arms around my waist and hold tight.”

The bike roared to life, and it was like sitting astride a fire-breathing beast. The vibration shook her to her core. They hadn’t even pulled away from the curb and she was breathless with exhilaration.

“And lean into the turns.”

“Lean into the turns,” she repeated. “Got it.” She pressed her chest to his back. Heat radiated off him, warming the front of her. She’d never been this physically close to a man before. Unless you counted rush hour on the Brooklyn-Queens Crosstown.

“You ready?” Without waiting for a response, he took off.

Mother of Hamlet, it was cold.
She squeezed her eyes shut and finally gave in, pressing her head against his back, using his broad shoulders as a windbreak.

She didn’t know what stole her breath more. Being up against the solid wall of Ian’s back, or riding this snarling beast of a motorcycle. Ian. Definitely Ian.

She spread her fingers across a lean stomach, undoubtedly solid muscle. Her legs enveloped his harder ones—
much
harder ones—so that she felt every flex of his muscles as he weaved the bike through the multitude of taxis and city busses. Very aware of her breasts against his back, she wondered if he felt them too.

They stopped at a traffic light. Ian twisted around. “Where do you live?”

Oh yeah. That would help. She told him her address and he gave her a funny look. The light changed and he took off again.

This time she forced herself to keep her eyes open, to watch the shops and restaurants, the pedestrians and the cars fly by. She finally understood the fascination with motorcycles. The freedom. The sheer exhilaration.

All too soon they double parked in front of her apartment building and he shut off the bike. “Careful climbing off.”

Her legs shook as she stood up and unsnapped the helmet. “Thank you.” She shivered without the heat of Ian’s body.

He took the helmet from her and pulled it on. “And you didn’t die,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting as he snapped the strap.

“No. I didn’t.”
In fact, I lived!

“I’ll wait for you to get inside. Goodnight, Millie. Have a nice weekend.”

“You, too.” Reluctant to leave him, she forced her feet in the direction of her building. As she opened the door, the motorcycle roared again as he hit the gas.

Adrenaline still pumping through her, she knew sleep would be a long time in coming tonight.

Stretched out on his bed, a re-run of
This Old House
on the T
V, Ian couldn’t get Millie off his mind. The feel of her against him, her arms wrapped around his waist, the way her breathing hitched when she’d climbed on the bike. She’d looked adorable in his helmet, the way it fell over her eyes. And if he could trust the light from the streetlamp, her cheeks had been flushed when she’d climbed off the bike and removed the helmet. Whether from cold or exhilaration, he didn’t know.

He’d felt so protective of her. As he’d watched her head up the sidewalk to her apartment, he’d wondered what her life was like. Did she have any friends outside of Darcy? Did she have a boyfriend? A spark of jealousy struck him out of the blue.

Why should he care? Even if he was interested in her, he didn’t have time. He had a friend who needed him and a business to grow. And speaking of his business, now that Ruby was comfortable at home, he vowed he’d spend the entire weekend working on the RFI if that was what it took, but come Sunday evening, it would be finished. With the deadline looming, it was high time he shit or got off the pot.

And if he finished it early on Sunday, he’d reward himself with a little work on the shelves for his office/library. He’d landed some beautiful Brazilian walnut on closeout that would make a stunning addition to the loft.

Satisfied with his plan, he clicked off the TV and rolled over on his side. As he drifted off, he could swear he felt Millie pressed against his back, warm and trusting.

“Millie, be careful. Josh can put the star on the tree when he gets home,”
Darcy warned.

Millie teetered on the top step of the stepladder, determined to finish the Christmas tree. They still had the banister, fireplace mantel, and front stoop to decorate.
The New York Times Magazine
was doing a feature on Christmas with Best-Selling author Darcy Butler-Ryan, and the photographer would be at the house tomorrow.

That, and she loved decorating with Darcy. She had so many pretty things. Things that meant something special to her. Like the
Pride and Prejudice
-themed ornaments her mother had given her for her first Christmas away from home. And the New York Yankees’ ornament that Josh gave her the year they met.

Millie’s parents barely acknowledged Christmas. Even over the school break, they were buried in their research. The only gifts she’d received growing up came from her maternal aunt who lived in California, and they were usually items like Barbie dolls and My Little Pony. She appreciated her aunt’s thoughtfulness, and while her cousins, Amy and Mindy, probably enjoyed them, the gifts were a complete mystery to her. She’d much rather have received books. Or a chemistry set. Even an ant farm.

Millie didn’t put up a tree. Her apartment was far too small. But coming to Darcy’s every day, she got to see and enjoy this one.

“Hi, ladies. Need some help?” Ian’s voice melted over Millie like hot butter, and her foot slipped as if she’d stepped in the slick stuff.

“Oh!” Millie gasped.

“Millie!” Darcy cried.

It all happened so fast. With all her weight balanced on that front foot, Millie was going down. She just hoped she didn’t take the tree with her. Or send it toppling onto Darcy. She flailed about hoping to somehow right herself.

“Gotcha!” Ian’s hands slipped around her waist, as she fell into him. He managed to keep them both upright, avoiding the tree, and consequently, disaster. She placed her hands on his shoulders as he slid her down his body, until her feet touched the floor.

Cheese and crackers!
She’d done it again. Made an utter fool of herself in front of Ian. The heat of mortification burned her skin, as she muttered, “Thank you.”

“Oh, Ian! Thank heavens you were here,” Darcy said as she placed her hands on Millie’s shoulders.

“No harm done,” Ian replied as he looked into Millie’s eyes. Her heart stuttered in her chest. Great!
That’s
all she needed—to have a heart attack in front of him. But then he’d have to perform mouth-to-mouth. Her gaze darted to his lips.
Hmm.

He dropped his hands from her waist and set her away from him, leaving her disappointed. “Can I help?”

“That’d be great,” Darcy said. “Millie was just trying to place the star on the tree.”

Ian bent down to pick up the ornament that Millie had dropped in her scramble to stay upright.

Without the need for the stepladder, Ian reached up and set it on top of the tree. “How’s that?”

“Turn it just a little to the left,” Darcy instructed. “Perfect. Thank you!”

“What else can I do?”

“Could you help hang the garland across the top of the door? Millie can tell you how, while I, uh, run to the little girl’s room. Peanut’s tap dancing on my bladder.”

Millie cringed at Darcy’s penchant for oversharing.

“Sure.”

After opening a plastic bin, Millie took out a garland of greenery, pinecones, and holly berries and led the way to the front door. Ian picked up the stepladder and followed.

Opening the door to a cold blast of air, Ian asked, “Don’t you want a coat?”

She shrugged. “We won’t be out there long.” Then she eyed his short-sleeve T-shirt. “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. Like you said, we won’t be out there long.”

“There should be nails along the doorframe from previous years. Just center the garland over the door and loop it behind the nails,” Millie instructed.

“I think I can handle that.” After placing the stepladder on the stoop, he took the garland from her hand. “Hold on to the ladder.”

Millie stepped up behind the ladder to steady it, and looking up, got an eyeful of Ian Brand’s butt, and what a butt is was!
Friar Tuck!
She had this unholy urge to bite it. Or pinch it. Something. Anything. She couldn’t help it. It just filled his jeans so nicely.

She recalled the feel of his hard body between her thighs as she rode behind him on his death machine, and the lack of a coat suddenly didn’t matter.