Roughing It With Ryan (7 page)

When he swayed, she swayed, when he turned, she turned. For a man who worked outside with his hands all day long, he was amazingly sensual. Extraordinarily erotic. And being held against him, swaying, dipping, she became those things, too. She was surrounded by him—by his touch, his voice—and nothing in her experience had ever felt so good, so very good. In his arms, her resolve to resist him at all costs faded away to nothing. Less than nothing. In
fact, if he scooped her up against him and carried her off to his bed, she'd probably beg him to hurry.

Then they shifted even closer so that the tips of her breasts slid against his chest. Her hips pressed to his, allowing her to feel his hard belly, his hard thighs and the most interesting hard bulge between them. Lifting her gaze, she saw the heat and desire smoldering in his, just waiting for her to acknowledge it.

“You do that to me,” he murmured.

She trembled and forgot why she was holding back.

“Do I do that to you, too, Suzanne? Make you hot? Make you feel like you could just…spontaneously combust?”

“I…” The words backed up in her throat when his gaze dipped to the scooped neckline of her shirt. The plump curves of her breasts just barely showed. Modest. She'd meant for it to be so. But he pulled back an inch, just enough so that she could see the clear, defined outline of her nipples pressing so desperately against the material of her shirt.

“Yes,” she whispered, admitting the truth he could see. “You…do that to me.”

“Are you wet, too?” he asked, very softly near her ear. “Are you wet for me?”

A helpless whimper escaped her when he pulled her close again, swaying lightly to the music.

Good thing
he
could still dance. Her pulse had long ago skyrocketed. Everywhere they touched sent an electrical current through her body, pooling at the spot between her legs. Breathing unevenly, she swallowed hard, but her heart still threatened to burst right out of her chest.

If Ryan noticed, he gave no sign, merely dipped his head a little and gently slid his jaw to hers. The unexpected tenderness of that and the way he guided her around the living room with such ease made her feel almost sorry she was never going to try again, that she'd never experience love the way she knew it must exist.

Then the music ended, and he slowly pulled back, releasing her. She nearly cried.
More, please more,
she wanted to plead, and bit her tongue instead. A little pain now would save her later, she told herself.

But there, in the dark, they stood. She could feel him looking at her. She couldn't imagine what he was thinking. Then the music started back up and she felt his fingers once again entwine with hers. They were warm and slightly rough from all the hard work he did every day. “One more,” he said, and when she hesitated a heartbeat too long, he drew her back against him.

A small sound of pure pleasure escaped her at the feel of his long, hard body once again against hers.
Who would have believed a dance could be so sensual, so…overwhelming?

Dipping his head so that he could see into her eyes, he held her gaze, holding her to him as if maybe he didn't want to let her go either.

Tim had never held her like this, as if she was a beautiful creature, as if he'd die if she moved away.

No one had.

It was terribly seductive, and terribly revealing. She was going to cave if she wasn't careful! God, what could she do? Calculate complicated recipes in her head? Remember she was essentially jobless?

She still wanted him with a desperation that scared her spitless. This time when the music ended, she pulled back. “I…have to clean up.”

“Don't go.”

“Have to,” she whispered, and at his expression—so completely frustrated and ardent at the same time—she ran into the kitchen, where she went straight to the sink, turned on the cold water, and splashed her face until reason returned.

Then, and only then, did she clean up the kitchen. As soon as she finished, she let herself out the back door into the dark night. She raced home and fell into bed, reaching beneath her pillow for the book of jokes her father had given her when her heart had first been broken. She'd been twelve, and Steven Mac
Kenzie had publicly dumped her at second recess. It had been her first lesson at laughing in the face of pain and ever since, when she'd been down, she'd read the book to put herself to sleep.

But tonight, no jokes, no matter how familiar and comforting, helped.

T
HE NEXT AFTERNOON
Suzanne and Taylor sat on Taylor's big bed, eating ice cream right out of the container. “It was horrible,” Suzanne said.

“I don't know how you can say that. I've tried it myself.”

“Really? Did you feel like your heart was going to just leap right out of your chest?”

“No, Chinese food doesn't do that to me. But Mexican does.”

“Not the food!” Suzanne shook her head and laughed. “I'm talking about the slow dancing!”

“Well.” Even Taylor's eyes smiled. “Well, well.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means I find it very interesting that a man you claim to feel nothing for can make your heart go all pitter-pattery when he holds you against him.”

Obviously Taylor had never been held against the likes of Ryan Alondo. And until last night, Suzanne hadn't either. She'd never experienced such a true, desperate need for a man in her life. She'd been so
frantic she would have given up breathing to have him.

“And yet you kept slow dancing,” Taylor pointed out.

“Well…” Remembering how heavenly it had felt being held tight to his hard, warm body, Suzanne sighed. “Yeah.”

“But in the end, you somehow managed to walk away without jumping his bones.”

“Not walk,” Suzanne corrected. “Run. I ran like hell was nipping at my heels.”

“I don't know about hell, honey, but I'd certainly call him sin personified.”

They both looked out the window—where Sin Personified was working a story below. Ryan stood on a large round of wood, balanced on the balls of his feet. His shirt clung to him, damp with exertion, which only further defined a body she knew could made a grown woman cry, but that's not what caught her attention now. He was wielding a huge ax with the rhythm of a machine, his arms, his chest, his legs all working in perfect unison.

Suzanne had tried to pick up one of those axes the other day. She'd barely been able to get it off the ground, much less fling it with deadly precision over her head time and time again.

“God, he's gorgeous.” Taylor slid another bite of
ice cream into her mouth. “Mmm. Sort of rugged and earthy, you know? With just the slightest bit of edge and danger mixed in. I mean, look at him.” She sucked on her spoon with a dreamy look on her exquisite face. “I bet he's an exceptional lover.”

Oh yeah, he would be. With those hands? Long and lean and work-roughened. They were dark from the sun, warm, and Suzanne could almost feel them stroking over her much paler skin… Her legs tightened, halfway to orgasm just thinking about it, and she had to laugh. “I'm sure he's far too experienced for me.”

Taylor lifted a worldly brow. “Are you saying our tree guy gets around?”

“His brothers told me he's a chick magnet.” She rolled her eyes. “Their words, not mine.”

Her landlord pursed her lips and fanned herself. “A man who knows what he's doing. Yummy.”

Yummy was right, and Suzanne was starting to perspire with all the images running wild in her head. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. How about this?” Sitting Indian-style on her bed, Taylor spread out a set of blue prints and a thick file. “Bids. I need an architect, an engineer and a contractor, and that's just to start. I've seen three of each so far. My God, do you have any idea how much these people charge?”

“A lot?”

“More than an arm and a leg, let me tell you. But I figure if I sell off the antiques, I can do this, assuming, of course, that I never need to eat or heat the place again.”

“No problem,” Suzanne said. “This is Southern California, we'll live without heating. As for the eating part, I have two more catering jobs coming up. A promotion party and a housewarming get-together.”

“Good for you! You should toss the want ads I see you scanning every day and go for it.”

“Oh, no. Catering's just a hobby. But with the few odd jobs here and there, I can keep us fed.” Suzanne leaned over the blue prints, which she had no idea how to read, looking up when she felt Taylor go utterly still. “What's the matter?”

Taylor looked stunned. “You…you just said you'd feed me.”

“Yeah, like your skinny little butt needs much.”

“But…that's the sweetest thing anyone ever said to me.” Her smile a bit watery now, she held out her spoon in a cheers. “To not needing heating this year.”

Suzanne toasted her right back. “To a steady job to keep us in ice cream.”

“To lots of sexy guys working on this place,” Taylor said and grinned. “Might as well get some good scenery out of the deal.”

“And last but not least…” Suzanne firmly kept her gaze off the window and the sexiest shirtless guy in the entire world as she lifted her spoon in another toast. “To remaining single.”

“To remaining single,” Taylor agreed. “Which does
not
preclude having sex when available—under responsible conditions, of course.”

Of course. And that, unfortunately, was the problem.

She couldn't stop thinking about sex, responsible or otherwise.

 

T
HE NEXT EVENING
, Suzanne slaved away in her kitchen, cooking like a fiend for the upcoming promotion party.

As always, she had vanilla candles lit, both for a relaxing aid, and also because she loved the flickering glow and scent.

Taylor sat on the counter, stuffing her face as fast as Suzanne stuffed the giant mushrooms. “I'm going to need another tenant,” she said around a full bite. “Soon as I get the wall in the loft fixed. And God save us from deadbeats.”

“I'll toast to that.” They lifted their lemonade, then each chased it with a stuffed mushroom.

“Good God, can you cook.” Taylor moaned over another bite. “Where did you learn? Your mom?”

Suzanne laughed. “My mom's idea of cooking is pressing a button on the microwave. What I do baffles her. She's a teacher, and has always wanted me to be noble and do the same.”

Taylor shuddered. “Deal with kids? Just kill me now.”

Suzanne stopped stuffing mushrooms and smiled. “That's what I like most about you. You'd never let someone tell you who and what to be.”

“You wouldn't either.”

“Ah, but you're wrong there.” Stalling, Suzanne flipped on the kitchen light, as the sun had nearly set. Out her window came the glow of halogen lights from Ryan's crew, who were still working. “Up until very recently I did exactly that, let people tell me what to do. My mother wanted me to teach, so I taught. Kindergarten. Wiped running noses all day long.”

Taylor shuddered again.

“Then my first fiancé wanted me to be a nurse, but I didn't have the right education, so I became a medical assistant instead.”

“Ugh.”

“No kidding. The day a nurse handed me a bed pan, I walked.”

Taylor laughed, then slapped a hand over her mouth. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be, it gets worse. My next fiancé thought I should be an exotic dancer. And since that horrified my mother, it was actually a bonus for a while—kind of payback for the runny noses.”

Taylor's eyes were shining with sympathy and laughter. “You didn't.”

“I so did.”

“Well, you have the body for it.”

“The men certainly thought so, but dancing on tables wasn't my thing.” The teaching had given her momentary prestige, the medical profession a sense of purpose. But all the dancing had gotten her was good cash tips. She'd been left feeling…aimless. Until the cooking gig. “My last fiancé—”

“The crybaby jerk?”

“Right. The crybaby jerk. He got me started on the chef thing. Which is more than I can say for anyone else in my life.”

“What happened to them all?”

“The fiancés?” Suzanne lifted a shoulder. “I destroyed whatever they felt for me. One by one.”

“I doubt that you did that single-handedly.”

“I'm bad at love, Taylor. Just ask any of them. I'm aimless and not serious enough. I hurt each of them and it didn't take that long either.”

“Love sucks,” Taylor said with a finality that told Suzanne she knew of what she spoke. Suzanne
opened her mouth to ask about it but glanced at a movement by the door.

Ryan stood there, his big body filling the doorway. Given his intense eyes and the lack of his usual smile, she'd guess he'd heard everything. Despite that, his physical presence captured her gaze and wouldn't let it go.

Just looking at him made her feel a little weak, a little needy, when she hated both. Could he understand, really understand, that no matter how they nearly exploded every time they simply got within touching distance, she couldn't give in?

She wouldn't hurt another soul.

“I don't intend to ruin another man,” she said to Taylor, never taking her eyes off Ryan.

“Well, who needs men anyway?” Taylor turned to Ryan and bit her lower lip, a mischievous smile slowly curving her lips. “Though I have to say, they do have their occasional uses. The recreational sport of sex, for instance. What do you think, Suzanne?”

Ryan, the tall, big, sexy jerk, simply smiled. “Yes, Suzanne,” he said ever so politely while his eyes smoldered. “What do you think?”

“That I've given
you
enough stuffed mushrooms,” Suzanne muttered, grabbing the tray from Taylor. On second thought, she snatched the tall glass of lemonade from her as well.

Taylor only laughed, then hopped off the counter. Tossing back her mane of blond hair, she kissed Suzanne on the cheek. “Don't get all snippy now. I was just trying to prove a point.”

“Which would be?”

“That having wild monkey sex with a man is
not
the same thing as giving up your life for one.” Leaning forward she said in a mock whisper, “In other words,
go for it.
” Straightening, she winked at Ryan. “See you later.” Waving perfectly manicured fingernails, she walked right out of the kitchen.

Leaving Ryan alone with the woman he couldn't seem to get enough of.

“I meant what I said,” Suzanne said to him, turning her back, busying her hands with something in a bowl. “I don't need a man.”

Only a few weeks ago, Ryan would have said he didn't need a woman, either. But there was a churning in his gut when he looked at her that he'd never experienced before, a need. An insatiable hunger.

Oh yeah, he needed a woman. He needed
her.

“I don't need
anyone,
” she added into the silence.

“So you've said.” Moving in close, he put his hands on her hips. He liked putting his hands on her, and it was time she knew it. He peeked over her shoulder into the bowl, and his poor, neglected stomach growled. “What's cooking?”

She sighed, but didn't move away.

Progress, he decided.

“You're hungry,” she said with another sigh. “Of course you are, you worked like a dog today. Have a seat and I'll—”

The lights flickered once and went out.

Suzanne gasped, and Ryan gently squeezed his fingers on her hips, touched beyond belief that she'd noticed him working so hard, that in spite of whatever complicated feelings she had, she'd stop everything to see him fed. “You actually made me forget what I came to tell you,” he said. “The electricity is going off for a bit, just while Rafe cuts down a branch too close to the electrical lines. We'd do it tomorrow, but there's supposed to be a Santa Ana wind coming through. It's dangerous to wait.”

She whirled to face him, and he caught her scent, the sweet, clean scent that tickled him in his dreams. A strand of her hair clung to his jaw and he held still so that it stayed there.

“But I have to finish cooking. I need electricity to finish.”

“It won't be long. You still have the candlelight.” Which was meager at best, since there were only three little ones left burning. He'd left his hands on her hips, and fought the urge to glide them over her entire body.

“W-what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

Hell if that wasn't a loaded question. “We could talk.”

“It was just a dance,” she said defensively, referring to the party.

“Like the kiss was just a kiss?”

“Yes.” But her breath caught, and in the glow of the candlelight, he looked into her unsure face.

Snagged by that, and the way she felt in his hands, he shifted closer, and when she let out a little murmur of helpless pleasure at the feel of him, he pressed closer still. “Suzanne.” She thought herself some kind of man destroyer, but the truth as he saw it was,
she'd
been hurt. She didn't trust easily. She wasn't someone to toy with. He knew this, just as he knew he should walk away. But he'd already decided he wouldn't do that.

Instead, he glided his hands up her arms, over her soft throat, to her face, which he cupped, wishing he could see her more clearly. “Suzanne…what's happening here?”

“I…don't know what you mean.”

His hips bumped hers, she let out that helpless hum again, and this time he groaned. “You feel it. I know you do.”

“It's just…” Her breathing quickened, and she put her hands on his shoulders, gripping hard, as if she
needed the balance. “It's just what Taylor said. A healthy need for recreational sex.”

“So if we had sex, right here, right now, you're saying the need between us would vanish?”

He didn't need any light to know she stood there with her mouth open, and he let out a groaning laugh, putting his forehead to hers. “Okay, let's find you a flashlight or more candles so I can get the hell out of here before I take advantage of your unbelievably arousing silence.”

“No one takes advantage of me.” As if to prove that statement, she slid her hands into his hair and fisted them, tugging him closer. Her warm breath brushed his cheek, her long, loose hair slid over his arm.