Nothing Personal

by Jaci Burton

  When they were finished, Margaret left and Faith was able to explore the rest of Ryan's room.

  There was a small sitting area to the left of the bed, with a plump, cushioned window seat built into a bay window. Two small lamps were mounted on the wall adjacent to the window. There was even a bookshelf nestled underneath the window seat, although it was empty.

  Faith could already imagine herself relaxing in front of the window, reading and drinking a cup of tea. She sighed in pleasure at the thought.

  Reading was her passion, and she spent almost all her free time engaged 54

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  in the fantasy world of someone else's life. Her favorites were romance novels, where the heroine found the man of her dreams, and despite trials and tribulations, always ended up happily-ever-after.

  Not the way real life worked at all, which is why she loved to read them. At least her favorite characters found their soul mates.

  But reading could wait for later. Right now she planned to enjoy the warm day and heated pool. She changed into her swimsuit, threw on a long sundress and headed outside.

  It was blissfully warm as she opened the back door and stepped onto the covered patio. Fragrant flowers bloomed. Faith inhaled the sweet jasmine twining around the latticed arbor. Summer was coming, and despite the unpleasantly hot weather during those months, it was still her favorite time of year.

  She couldn't wait to swim a few laps. A quick glance around showed no one about, so she dropped her sundress and dove in.

  The water was perfect. One of her favorite things to do was head to the YMCA after work and swim to drive away the stress of the day. It was great exercise and never failed to rejuvenate her.

  After several laps, she stopped in the center of the pool and floated on her back, enjoying the heat of the sun on her face and the utter quiet of being partially submerged in the silent water.

  Ryan found Faith lying on her back in the middle of the pool, completely oblivious to the world around her. She barely moved, occasionally fluttering her arms or legs to maintain her balance as she allowed the sun to worship her body.

  He had never seen her this close to unclothed before. Why in heaven's name did the woman hide under business suits two sizes too big and way too long? She had a magnificent body, perfectly proportioned. Sleek and athletic, with slender hips and slim legs. Trying to hide her figure under that ugly navy tank suit did no good. It hugged her body like a sports car on a sharp curve.

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  He'd always had a thing for petite women, and Faith was small and perfect, right down to her pink-painted toenails. Cute. Incongruent in a woman who made trying to look plain an art form.

  Her dark hair floated around all sides of her face, and he caught a tiny tinge of freckles across her cheeks and upturned nose. He wondered how long he could stand by the edge of the pool and watch her before she noticed he was there?

  Why in the world was he even down here, and in his swim trunks?

  Ryan never took the time to swim. In fact, this was the first time in years he'd even contemplated taking a dip. His normal use for the pool was as decoration for social events held at the mansion.

  But that was before he'd spotted the water nymph from his office window. Without thinking, he'd thrown on his swim trunks and made a mad dash for the pool.

  Now that he was here, what was he going to do?

  An idea popped into his head. He couldn't. It really wasn't a mature thing to do, and God knows it had been years since he'd done it. He still remembered the stern look on his grandfather's face when his golf partners had gotten wet. Ryan had received a thirty-minute lecture on propriety and acting like a child. But then again, he had been a child when it happened.

  But there she was, looking calm and peaceful in the center of the pool, just begging for someone to splash her. He grinned.

  Screw it. He was going in. Taking a few steps back, he ran toward the water, leaped high in the air and tucked both knees up to his chest. He hit the deep end with his first adult cannonball.

  A good one, too. He landed on the bottom and quickly pushed off to the surface, throwing his head side to side to sluice the water out of his eyes before opening them.

  In front of him stood one seriously drenched water nymph.

  Faith spit water through hair that fell over her face. When she managed to pull the strands aside and cock one eye open, Ryan almost laughed at the picture she presented. Almost.

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  She blew the strands of hair out of her mouth. "You scared me half to death!"

  He tried to keep his lips from curling. "Sorry, I couldn't resist."

  "Well, next time try harder."

  Ryan's eyes widened as he heard Faith complain for the very first time. In five years of working with her, he'd never heard a cross word or protest from her. At times she could be annoyingly agreeable, or at least if she had a differing opinion she diplomatically presented her case, but always accepted Ryan's decision as final.

  Right now she looked pissed as hell. It certainly enhanced her appearance considerably, her small, high breasts heaving in indignation and her face bright with creamy color from the sun. She looked warm and lush and utterly delectable. He fought the urge to lick the droplets of water off every inch of her skin.

  "If I promise to behave, will you stay and swim with me?" he asked.

  "If I promise to stay and swim with you, will you promise not to act like an eight-year-old?"

  It was all he could do not to laugh out loud at the sheer joy of the moment. He had been, in fact, eight years old the last time he'd tried the cannonball trick. And just now he'd felt that long ago childhood freedom as he'd sailed in the air before plummeting with glee into the safety net of the pool's depths.

  "I'll try," he said, desperately trying to keep his smile in check.

  "You do that."

  She looked like a schoolteacher giving a lecture. Except she didn't look like any of the teachers he'd had, nor did her current appearance in any way reflect the way she presented herself at work. Without those owlish glasses to hide behind, her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires.

  Funny how they always seemed a duller blue behind her specs.

  Her shoulders were thrown back, pushing her chest out. He liked the indignant look--especially when she pointed her erect nipples in his direction.

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  "Are you cold?" This time he couldn't fight the smirk.

  Faith shook her head, seemingly confused. Then she followed his eyes to her chest and quickly wrapped her arms around her breasts.

  Was she trying to hide her body from him? Hadn't she already adequately done that in that antiquated version of bathing attire?

  "So, are you enjoying the pool?" he asked.

  "I...um...I came down here to swim a few laps and read. Alone."

  "Is that your not so subtle way of saying you'd like me to leave?"

  A look of alarm crossed her face. "Oh, no! I mean, this is your house and your pool. I certainly wouldn't presume to tell you that you couldn't be anywhere you chose."

  There was the always agreeable, prim and proper Faith. For a moment there he'd wondered where she'd gone when she'd turned into an oh-so-pissed-off bathing beauty. He'd enjoyed that small glimpse of spunk.

  "I just wanted a quick dip, anyway." With a turn, he cut through the water and hoisted himself out. He grabbed a towel from the stack and dried himself. "I've got some work to do in the office downstairs tonight, so I probably won't surface until later. Leland will see that you get dinner."

  "Okay."

  Her gaze fell to the water, whether from disappointment or relief, he couldn't tell. She'd made it clear she didn't want him to stay, so why did she seem unhappy with the fact he was leaving?

  "I
tend to lose track of time when I'm working, so don't wait up for me. I'll probably come to bed late."

  He waited for his words to sink in, and tried not to smile when she lifted her head, her eyes wary.

  They might not be having sex, but they would be sleeping together.

  For some reason he wanted her as uncomfortable about the situation as he was going to be, for entirely different reasons, of course.

  Right now, she looked damned uncomfortable.

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  Satisfied, he turned toward the house.

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  Chapter Five

  Don't wait up for me. Ryan's words stayed with Faith the rest of the day and well into that evening. She paced the expansive bedroom, casting frequent glances toward the clock on the bedside table. When she wasn't looking at the time, she was contemplating Ryan's bed. No, not Ryan's bed. Their bed. The one she had to share with him tonight.

  She would not hyperventilate. She simply refused to let a simple thing like sleeping with Ryan cause her throat to go dry and her heart to run a marathon.

  It was after midnight and still no sign of him. Did he think she'd just go to sleep, knowing that at some point he'd come in and slide under the sheets with her? Maybe it wasn't a big deal for him, but it was for her.

  For a woman who'd barely had a handful of first dates her entire life, she'd certainly made some major leaps in the past couple days.

  It wasn't like she had to have sex tonight. Their agreement was quite clear. All she was going to do tonight was sleep with him. Ryan had promised to honor her wishes for a little time, so there was no reason for her to panic. She should just relax and quit pacing a hole in the carpet.

  Oh, right, like that was going to happen. The word relax wasn't even in her vocabulary.

  She glanced at the king-sized bed, its pale amber coverlet pulled back. Her fingers traced an absent pattern over the satin sheets beneath.

  Okay, no sex. But still, she'd be closer to a man than she ever had been before. A man who was also her husband. A man who, despite her bargain with him to wait, she'd eventually have sex with.

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  Forcing her breathing to slow down, she pushed away the queasy feeling, chalking it up to nothing more than a simple case of indigestion.

  She was being ridiculous and naive. It was time to grow up. She'd agreed to this marriage. It really wasn't a big deal. Besides, at twenty-six years old it was way past time she found out what she'd been missing all these years.

  "What have you been missing all these years?"

  She stopped dead in her tracks and turned to see Ryan at the doorway. His entrance sure made her breathing slow down. In fact, she was certain she'd stopped breathing altogether. Really, she must try to stop thinking out loud.

  "And do you always talk to yourself?" He threw a stack of papers on the desk before stopping in front of her.

  "Sometimes." Wonderful. Not only did he catch her talking about sex, but out loud. To herself.

  "You didn't answer my question."

  Didn't he ever look sloppy? Past midnight and he still looked fresh and oh-so-handsome. The black cashmere sweater accentuated the silvery glint in his dark eyes.

  "What question?" she asked.

  "What have you been missing all these years?"

  "Oh, that one." The one she hoped he'd forget he'd overheard.

  Obviously not. "Did you get all your work finished?"

  "Yes, I did, and you're avoiding my question." He slid his index finger down her arm.

  Faith yawned. "Wow, look how late it is. I'm tired."

  He smiled. "I'm surprised you're not already in bed. And you're still dressed."

  After her shower, she'd been afraid to change into pajamas. Pajamas meant bed, and that she couldn't wrap her mind around just yet. She looked down at her too-big sweatpants and oversized sweatshirt. "Oh. I was reading and lost track of time."

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  "I see. Well, I agree with you. I'm beat. Think I'll take a shower and get ready for bed." He sat on the bed and removed his shoes.

  As he headed into the dressing area Faith sat on the long brocade chaise against the wall, her head resting in her hands. How was she going to handle this? This intimacy, this sharing of personal space?

  She paused as the sounds of running water and the shower door closing riveted her attention. A crystal clear image of Ryan naked popped into her head. He'd be turning his face to the shower spray, letting the steamy water sluice over his dark hair. He'd grab the soap and lather his hands, then run his palms over his chest and lower, until--

  With desperate effort she tried to push the vision from her mind.

  Said traitorous mind refused to cooperate. And then she heard new sounds. Beautiful, melodic sounds. She stepped closer to the door and listened.

  It was Ryan. He was singing in the shower, his tenor voice perfect and unflawed. What was that song?

  Oh, God. No wonder it was so familiar. He sang one of her favorite love songs, his clear, beautiful voice loud and sharp despite the running water.

  "Ohhhh, my love, my darling, I hunger for your touch, this long, lonely night."

  The haunting lyrics from "Unchained Melody" swept through her.

  Ryan's voice touched her as if his hands blazed a fiery trail from her trembling lips to her frantically beating heart.

  He mesmerized her with his singing, capturing her in a spell. When he belted out "I need your love" at the top of his voice, her body melted.

  Without thinking she entered the dressing area, aching to step into the bathroom and listen to him, see him, touch him.

  She hesitated.

  So what stopped her? She was his wife. What would be the harm in going to him, in allowing him to touch her, to let him take her in his arms and kiss her, hold her like she'd waited her entire life to be held?

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  To feel a man's touch, to finally experience a joining so intimate that poets struggled to find words to describe it.

  She made it as far as the bathroom door, her hand on the knob, ready to turn it and fling open the gateway to the unknown. Then she remembered her mother's warning.

  Don't ever fall in love, Faith. Men only want sex. If you give them your heart, they'll crush you and you'll never know a stronger pain.

  Even years later those words influenced her, held her back, made her stop.

  And look at you. You have no beauty--you're plain, just like me. Men will use and discard you like your father did to me.

  She could already envision Ryan laughing at her. He was the picture of the perfect male. Gorgeous, intelligent, well-educated, able to pick and choose women of the highest caliber. Beautiful women, with social standing equal to his.

  Instead, he had married his assistant. Not a glamour girl, or a socialite. Just plain and simple Faith. Not love, but a business deal.

  She jerked her hand back from the doorknob and fled. As quickly as possible she donned her pajamas and retreated to the bedroom.

  When Ryan stepped out of the bathroom Faith was sitting on the chaise. Her hands clenched the edge of the lounge like she was dangling from a cliff.

  She looked terrified.

  He'd never seen anyone so adorable in his life.

  In her cotton pajamas with the long sleeves and legs and blue puffy cloud pattern, she looked like a frightened child. She'd pulled her hair back in a ponytail and chewed her lip nervously.

  Ah yes, his calm, serene bride. The one with the death grip on the chaise.

  Was he that imposing?

  "I see you're ready for bed," he said.

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  She looked up,
apparently finished with her examination of the carpet. She paled and looked like she might faint.

  Now what was wrong? He had thrown on a pair of boxers instead of coming out of the bathroom stark naked as he was used to. Knowing Faith's intimacy issues, he hadn't wanted to give her a heart attack on their first night sleeping together.

  So why did she look like she was about to jump out the window?

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  She nodded.

  "You sure?"

  She nodded again.

  "Shall we go to bed then?" It was like a game of charades. And he wasn't even being given hand signals for clues.

  She didn't nod. She simply rose from the lounge like a prisoner heading for the guillotine and stood at the end of the bed.

  "Well?" he asked.

  "I was waiting to see what side you slept on so I could get in on the opposite side."

  Ever the sacrificing one, wasn't she?

  "What side do you sleep on?" he countered.

  "The right."

  Ryan slipped under the covers on the left side of the bed and held the blanket open for her. "Get in, then."

  With agonizing slowness she lay down, turned her back and balanced precariously on approximately four inches of the bed. As far away from him as possible.

  Ryan propped himself up on his elbow and watched her try to get into a sleeping position. If he didn't think he'd scare her out of her wits he'd have laughed. As it was, he was almost afraid to breathe for fear she'd bolt right up, or worse, fall off the bed.

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  It was like having an ironing board in bed with him. She was barely breathing and sure as hell wasn't moving. And he could swear the bed shook. Was she cold? Or just scared to death?

  At least he couldn't take it as an insult for being lousy in bed. Unless criticism applied to simply sharing the space.

  "Good night, Faith." Ryan reached up and turned off the light over his side of the bed. And waited.

  "Night, Ryan," she finally answered, so quiet he barely heard her.

  He rolled over onto his back and stared at the moonlit ceiling.

  He wasn't in bed with a sixteen-year-old, that much was certain.

  Faith was old enough to know some things, even if she was a virgin. And it wasn't as if he'd told her he was planning to attack her their first night together.