A pair of headlights streaked across the front window,
interrupting her bid war. A minute later, heavy footsteps crossed the porch.
Then someone knocked hard on the door.
She jerked out of the chair, her confusion exacerbated by the
heavy pounding of her heart. No one should be here. The door rattled like
someone was messing with the lock. She made a sound halfway between a bleat and
a scream when the door opened.
Ryan came in. "Hey, you're here," he said, dimples
flaring.
"What are you doing? You scared the shit out of me.” She
braced herself on the table, pulling in a deep lungful of air.
He just stood grinning at her, hands in his pockets, curls gelled
into something close to order. The laptop streamed soft music that all of a
sudden sounded romantic, and she panicked, hoping he wouldn’t get the wrong
idea.
“Glad you think this is funny,” she said.
“I thought you’d be out
with Maeve.” He held up his hands, calming her, placating her. She really
wanted those hands touching her.
Down girl.
“I just had to finish up a couple things.” She straightened up and
rested her knuckles on her hips. Instead of his usual worn jeans and tee shirt,
he was dressed in black pants and a light blue button-down shirt that looked
like silk and made his eyes crazy bright. His tie was navy and he'd changed out
his usual UW hoodie for a black leather jacket. "You look … um…"
"Company Christmas party." He spoke too quickly, like
there was something going on under the surface.
"You should be out hanging with your crew." And not here torturing me.
"I need to take the clamps off those cabinets I glued up."
The expression on his face had nothing to do with carpentry. He
took a couple steps toward the dining room, then veered over to where she
stood, moving fast. She fell back, carried by his wave of energy, and in
seconds he had her up against the wall, his hands bracketing her head, his hips
pressed tight to hers.
"Ryan, no. What are you…"
He covered her mouth with his fingers. "Sh. Just let me be
close to you for a minute."
She tipped her chin up and his fingers slid down her neck,
stopping when his thumb hit the hollow at the base of her throat and his strong
hand cradled her shoulder. He rocked forward, resting his mouth against her
forehead.
She stood still, caught up in the heat of his breath on her skin
and the soft woodsy smell of his aftershave.
"I know I'm not supposed to do this, Dani."
The scratch of lips against skin made her mouth water. "It's …
okay. Just … we shouldn't."
His head turned and lowered. He meant to kiss her. If he
succeeded, there was no way she'd stop. She wanted him so, so bad. He cupped
her face with both hands, pinning her.
Crap.
His mouth closed over hers like the final piece of a puzzle
dropping into place. She stilled, time stopped, the universe paused. She didn’t
push him away.
Sometimes not choosing becomes its own choice.
Instead, she reached up and grabbed the collar of his silk shirt
and hauled him closer. This was what she wanted. To hell with all the arguments
against it.
He shoved a thigh between her legs, and his hands grew rougher,
grabbing her hair to change the angle of her head. He tasted of mint and gum
and beer. The heat rose between them, and oh my God she wanted it. Wanted him.
He pulled back, flicked her lips with his tongue. The sound she made was nearly
a sob. She drove her hands under his leather coat and pulled his shirt free.
When her fingertips reached the warm, velvety skin of his lower back she almost
sobbed again.
His kiss got harder, rugged, more demanding, and his hands dragged
her ass closer still. Her body lit up, her core turning to liquid flame. He got
under her sweatshirt, kneading her breasts. Her head rocked back against the
wall and her laughter swirled out under the exquisite torture of his hands on
her nipples. His lips and tongue mauled her ear and down her neck, and she
keened a victory sound, tiny and high-pitched, her hips rocking slowly against
the growing bulge in his groin.
She went to work on the buttons down the front of his shirt, ready
to indulge in exploring his muscular chest, but he wrapped her hands in his and
shifted his weight away from her.
When he spoke, his voice was rough, heavy. "I'm sorry."
He turned slowly, moving like a man three times his age. "Jesus, I know
you don’t want … I'm sorry, Dani."
She let the wall support most of her weight, breathing hard, all
that warm liquidy goodness turning to ice. Her sweatshirt rode up around her
ribs and her bra was off kilter. She tugged everything back into place,
embarrassment verging on mortification washing over her. Why the hell did he stop? He'd acted on an impulse she felt just as
surely as he did. Then he tipped forward a little, unsteady, almost losing his
balance, and she put the pieces together. "How much did you have to drink
tonight?"
He scrubbed his face with his hands. "A bit."
"A bit too much." She punched his shoulder. He reached
out like he would gather her in for a hug, but she sidestepped him. "None
of that, now. Let me get my stuff together then I'm going to drive you
home."
"Nah, I'm fine."
"Um, right. Give me your keys."
After a brief staring match, he flipped his car keys in her
direction. She'd seen pain in his eyes, hiding behind a whole boatload of
frustration.
All emotions she could relate to.
