Roughing It With Ryan (9 page)

A
FTER SLAMMING THE DOOR
—why had she done that, she didn't care who Ryan went out with—Suzanne stalked through the dark hallway, up the stairs and straight into Taylor's apartment.

“Taylor?” She let herself in. “I need an ice cream fix!”

“Well, then, come on back! I have a brand new gallon and two clean spoons.”

Suzanne stormed into the kitchen, headed for Taylor's freezer and grabbed the gallon container. Since Taylor had sold her antique dining room set to start work on the loft, there was nowhere to sit, so they each hopped up on the counter.

Doing her best not to remember what had happened the last time she'd sat on a counter, Suzanne took the spoon Taylor handed her and dug in.

Taylor waited until they'd each had five good-sized bites. “So.” Swinging her feet, she sucked a drop of ice cream off her spoon. “What did he do?”

“He who?”

“He who. Ryan who.”

Suzanne studied a swirl of chocolate. “What makes you think
he
did anything?”

“Because he's got a penis, hon. He can't help but be an idiot.”

“Yeah.” Suzanne sighed. “But for some reason, I always forget that idiot part.”

“Well, I have to admit, Ryan does seem to have evolved slightly further than the average knuckle-dragger. I mean he looks at you,
really
looks at you. If you gave him any encouragement at all, I think he'd go for it.”

Suzanne snorted and shoveled in more ice cream.

Taylor lifted a brow. “Are you saying he's already gone for it?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Taylor said with disappointment.

“
I
went for it.” At Taylor's shocked laugh, she sighed. “Remember when the electricity went out the other evening? We nearly…”

Taylor put down her spoon. “Nearly
what?
”

Suzanne dug back into the container with more force than was required. “Let's just say the electricity came on just in time and my sanity returned.”

“
Wow.
So you nearly…” Taylor sighed. “He's got the
best
body.”

“One he took out a date tonight with a woman who looks like a Barbie doll.”

“Hmm.”

“He kissed her.”

“No.”

“Oh yeah.”

Taylor put her spoon down. “Should we kill him?”

“I'm serious.”

“So am I.” Taylor hopped off the counter, and looked deep into Suzanne's eyes. “Are you sure you're not mistaken? I've seen him watch you. There is no one else, there couldn't be.”

“There was tonight.”

“Talk to him.”

Suzanne hopped down, too, but kept a hold of the tub of ice cream. She wasn't letting go of her comfort food. “No way.”

“I think you should.”

“And I think we need to renew our vow to remain single, since you've apparently forgotten it. I'm borrowing this ice cream.” She went out the door.

Taylor sighed. “I'll renew
my
vow,” she said to the swinging door. “But I have the feeling you won't be needing yours for long.”

 

C
ONCENTRATING ON
shoveling ice cream into her mouth at a rate that would ensure obesity by her next birthday, Suzanne headed toward her own apartment.

Her throat was tight, her eyes burned and it bugged the hell out of her. Good Lord, one would think she actually
cared
who that Neanderthal dated, when everyone knew he dated anything in a damn skirt.

It didn't matter, not one little bit, because she was never going to date again. She was never even going to look at another man again, no matter if he was Adonis.

She'd have to get a vibrator, of course. Or turn lesbian.

No, a vibrator would do.

Reaching out blindly for the front door of her own apartment, she nearly swallowed both her tongue and the spoon on it when she encountered a hard chest instead.

She knew that hard chest.

“Suzanne.”

Oh, God, she knew that voice too, mostly because it made her mouth go dry and her thighs clench together.

Two large hands settled on her shoulders. One gentle shake had her raising her head to meet his dark, dark gaze. “We have to talk,” he said.

She swallowed her latest bite of chocolate ice cream and thought about that. “No.”

“There are things you need to know.”

“N-period-O-period,
no.
”

“The date was set up by Rafe.”

“You poor, poor baby. I bet it was rough.”

“Hey, you're the one who said I should go.”

Yes. Yes, she had.

“Look, I've come to terms with this…” He waved a hand between them. “This
thing
between us, and you should, too.”

“This
thing?
We have a
thing?
” She gaped, then laughed. “Don't be silly, we don't have a thing.”

“We sure as hell do.” His forehead was furrowed as he opened her apartment door, one hand still on her arm as if he thought maybe she'd bolt. Or slam the door on him.

She considered both.

“All I'm saying…” He ushered her inside. “Is that we might as well see it through.”

“Why? To get it out of our system? We tried that!” Exhaustion made her shoulders sag. “Go home, Ryan.”

“You don't understand.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly. You date obsessively. You're addicted to women!”

“Suzanne—”

“And given what's almost happened between us,
twice
now, I think you're also addicted to…
sex.
” She whispered the last word, horribly embarrassed that
her mouth seemed to have run away with her good sense. In fact, forget him leaving,
she'd
leave.

He caught her in the kitchen. When he turned her back to face him, he was smiling, damn him.

“Suzanne.” He bit his lower lip, and she had a bad feeling it was to keep from laughing. She wondered how he'd look wearing a spoonful of ice cream, and gripped her spoon and gallon tight.

“If I'm addicted to anything,” he said. “It's you. And don't take this wrong…” He backed her into a corner. “But I'm not leaving until we have this out.”

Bullies had never scared her. Without stopping to think—a problem she'd been addled with since childhood—she lifted her spoon, fully loaded with ice cream, and used it like a slingshot, flinging chocolate ice cream.

It hit him square on the forehead.

He lifted a hand to the spot, then looked at his chocolate-covered finger with shock. A drop of the stuff plopped from his forehead to his nose, and he shook his head, baffled. “I can't believe you did that.”

“Believe it.” She loaded her spoon again, hit him on the jaw this time. “And there's more where that came from.”

“I take it you're not going to be logical about this.” Putting a hand on the tile's edge on either side of her, effectively blocking her in, he bent slightly so that
they were eye to eye. A drop of the chocolate ice cream fell from his jaw and hit her on the shoulder.

He looked down at it with gleaming eyes before he bent and licked it off.

At the feel of his tongue on her skin, her breath caught in her throat. Whatever she'd been about to say or do—and damn it, it had been good, too—flew right out the window.

“Now.” He lifted sleepy, sexy eyes. “Let's try this again.” He shifted his big, warm body close without a care for the ice cream dripping over the both of them.

“Yes, we need to see this through. I realize you're thrilled as hell at the thought, but—” He grabbed for her wrist when she might have flung more ice cream.

“Why don't you let me tell you a few things to see if we can ease your mind.” Almost idly, he set the gallon container on the counter, then took her other wrist as well, leaving her pretty much his captive.

“First, I do not date obsessively.” Dipping his head again, he took another nibble of ice cream off her shoulder and made a low purring sound in his throat before speaking again. “That would be far too tiring.”

It was very difficult to follow this conversation with his hands and mouth on her. “But Rafe said—”

“Rafe was wrong. Tonight was a fluke, he set me up when I wasn't listening.”

Suzanne blinked at his flat voice. “He said you go out every night.”

“Three nights a week.”

She saw that his jaw had gone tight, and that the humor had left his eyes. Obviously he was more than a little tense, but what had made him so?
She
was the one picturing him going out three nights a week with a different woman each time. “Fine,” she said slowly, feeling more than a little confused. “But you should know, I still consider three dates a week pretty sick.”

He stared at her for a heartbeat, then pulled her hands behind her back, holding them there with one of his. This left his right hand free, which he took on a cruise over her shoulder, smearing the ice cream into her skin. “Do you consider three dates a week sick because it's me?”

It had become difficult to concentrate on anything but those fingers. “Uh…”

“Do you?” His fingers traced her collarbone. “Suzanne?”

What had he asked?

“I'm thinking you don't want me dating anyone.” More fingers on her skin. “Except, maybe, you.”

“Ha!” She meant to sound strong and carefree, but it came out weak and breathy because his finger trailed over her throat with a light touch before he dipped it into the gallon container on the counter.

With a mischievous light in his eyes, he brought that ice-cream covered finger back to her throat and skimmed it to the wild pulse at the base of her neck.

Her nipples hardened.

“I'm leaving the house three nights a week, yes,” he said, tracing her collarbone now. “But not for dates.” Very lightly he stroked that finger straight down to the top button of her sundress, which was right between her breasts. “And as for being addicted to sex…” Now his fingers played with that first button, and before she could draw a breath, it fell open.

“Before I met you I would have said of course not.”

“And now?” Good Lord, was that her voice, all light and fluttery and…inviting?

“Well, if we're talking about you and me…then it's quite possible.” Another button popped open, then another, and then the strap of her sundress slid off her shoulder. With a little nudge from Ryan's mouth, her breast was free. He studied the white cotton of her bra, then stroked the covered nipple with his thumb, watching it pucker all the tighter with a fascination that made Suzanne clench her thighs tight.

“Have I answered all your questions?”

She blinked him into focus and tried to remember.

“If you're not dating the entire female species, where are you three nights a week?”

“I'm…” He let out a long breath. “What the hell. I'm going to college at night.”

“But… That doesn't make any sense.”

“Why? Because I trim trees?”

“What you do is more than that,” she said slowly at the unfurling anger in his voice. “You know it's more than that.”

“Yes. It's been a way for my family to stay together. It's put food on the table and a roof over our heads. It's been a lifesaver, but it's not the job of my heart, and I need that. I need the job of my heart, Suzanne. I'm getting my landscape architectural degree this year, after six long years of taking classes whenever I could.”

He was staring at her with such drive, such intensity. Contrasting sharply was the ice cream dripping off his nose.

“I'm sorry I smeared ice cream on you,” she whispered.

“Sorry enough to lick it off?”

Um…undoubtedly. But there was the little matter of keeping her head, so that afterwards they could walk away from each other. “Licking you,” she said, “would be very nice, I'm sure.”

“Nice?” He let out a choked laugh.
“Nice.”

“That's not an insult.”

“Really.”

“Look, I'll admit I feel…a little hot and itchy when I'm near you. But—”

“I really hate that word but.”

“But…” She had to smile at his groan. “But…I just have to be careful that we both know where we stand.”

“Since you're so determined to keep reminding us, how can we forget?”

“Yeah.” His chest just barely brushed against her achy nipples. She bit her tongue to hold her moan in.

“You going out on any more dates? Not that I care—”

His smile was slow and devastating. “You care. So do you want to know where we went, or what we did?”

“Neither. I don't care.”

“Really? You didn't care at all? Not one little bit?”

“No. Yes.
Yes,
okay?”
And I want to know if you touched her like you've touched me.
He better not have, came her next thought, quickly followed by dismay at the possessive feelings she didn't want. She lifted a shoulder. “What you did tonight is your own concern.”

With a surprisingly gentle touch, he smoothed a wayward tendril of hair behind her ear. “I can tell you we didn't smear ice cream on each other's bodies.”

“Neither have we.”

“Ah, but the night is early.” Eyes once again filled with that hot, challenging, oh-so-sexy glow, he slid his hands—still sticky—into her hair.

“You've just put ice cream in my hair.”

“Yes.” His mouth hovered near hers. “I'm planning on putting it everywhere.”

“I don't think so.”

“You started this.” His lips curved ever so slightly, his expression full of a laughing dare. “I think you wanted this.”

“I wanted to…”

“Yes?” he coaxed when she didn't finish. “You wanted to…what?”