by J. Kenner
"Sorry," Nikki yells back. "On our way. Just think about it," she adds in a softer voice as we start up the stairs.
I don't bother answering, but her words seep inside me. The truth is, I know she's right. But fear is a funny thing. It gets under your skin. It disguises itself as reason. It's insidious and sneaky and it wants to win.
But here's the good news: I'm competitive as hell. And somehow, someway, I'm going to kick fear's ass.
Chapter Three
"No more," I say, as Ryan offers me a spoonful of chocolate ice cream. "I'm completely stuffed." It's no exaggeration. I'm practically comatose after a burger, a hot dog, approximately eight million potato chips, and some of Jackson's incredible coleslaw.
We've spent an entire lazy, wonderful day here with our friends. We'd started with a light brunch, then had this fabulous picnic-style dinner, and now I'm stretched out on the double chaise, just vegging out. Ryan is propped up beside me, our shared bowl of ice cream balanced on my stomach.
"You're sure?" He touches the tip of the spoon to my lower lip. I instinctively lick it, then sigh with pleasure at the cool, chocolatey sweetness.
"Mmm," I say. "I can't eat another bite."
"In that case..." He moves the spoon to his lips, his eyes locked on mine as he licks it clean--and I feel my body clenching simply from watching that amazing mouth and tongue. "Delicious," he says, and I know damn well he isn't talking about the ice cream.
I clear my throat, then shift. The first, because my mouth has gone dry and I need to regain the ability to form words. The second, because if I stay like this, with my body so hyperaware of the man beside me, I'm going to end up embarrassing myself in front of my friends. Right now, Jackson and Syl are down in the yard, while Nikki and Damien are standing at the rail looking out over the backyard toward the ocean. But I'm sure Syl and Jackson are on their way back. And any moment now, Nikki and Damien could turn around.
"Kiss me quick," I whisper, and he doesn't waste any time. His mouth closes over mine, cool and sweet, and I close my eyes, letting his touch sweep me away, emptying my mind of all my fears and doubts, and silencing that horrible voice that seems to yell the loudest when I'm the happiest.
"Funny," Damien says, his voice drifting toward us from across the patio, "I didn't realize it was already Valentine's Day."
I feel the heat rise in my cheeks as Ryan breaks the kiss. I open my eyes to see him wink at Damien. "Come on in," Ryan says. "The water's fine."
"Don't mind if I do," Damien says, and pulls Nikki to him with such ardent zeal that I hear her surprised little, "oh," from all the way across the patio. He claims her with a wild kiss, but I only see the first moment of connection, because Ryan takes me just as savagely, and I close my eyes and sink into the feel of him. A delicious warmth fills me. I'm desired. Loved.
Special.
And then, when I hear the sharp clearing of Jackson's throat, I feel as guilty as a teenager caught by her parents.
We break apart, laughing, and I see that Nikki and Damien have done the same.
"Honestly," Jackson says to Syl. "We leave the kids alone for just a few minutes..."
"Oh, I don't know." She hooks her arms around his neck. "I think they have the right idea."
He laughs and kisses her, and when they break apart we're all laughing together.
"I'm so glad you all came over today," Sylvia says as she takes Jackson's hand and pulls him over to sit on the end of the chaise that Ryan and I have claimed. "I was afraid we wouldn't be able to all get together before Jackson and I head off."
"I'm jealous," I admit. "Getting whisked away over Valentine's Day. And to Hawaii. Very, very jealous."
"Don't be too jealous," she says. "It's a ten-day work trip, after all." She leans forward, then says in a mock-whisper. "Of course, we'll probably sneak in some free time. Just don't tell my boss."
Sylvia's a project manager with Stark Real Estate Development, and she's in charge of a new resort that's going up on one of the Hawaiian islands. Designed by none other than Jackson, of course.
"I heard that," Damien says with a chuckle from where he still stands with Nikki at the rail. "Besides, your boss is going to have his hands full juggling meetings in Austin."
"Not too full," Nikki says. "I'm taking time off to come with you, after all. I expect at least one or two quality hours with my husband. Especially on Valentine's Day."
"I can probably squeeze out a minute or two for you," he says, then kisses her nose. "If you're very, very good."
I roll my eyes. "You realize you're all far too sappy. What's the point of Valentine's Day if you're sappy all year round?"
"Are you two doing it up big for Valentine's Day?" Syl asks, looking at me. I glance at Ryan, but he's looking away, as if he wants to avoid the question. Actually, maybe he does. After all, he has to work on Valentine's Day--something that I'm not particularly thrilled about since he runs the entire security division, and it seems to me that he should practice the manly art of delegating the crappy hours to someone else.
"Ryan has to work," I say, sticking my tongue out at Damien, who laughs. "So we're just going to have a late drink at home on Tuesday. But we'll have our own private Valentine's Day on the weekend. Fortunately, I only work Thursday and Friday this week. I have two weekends in a row completely off."
I sigh dramatically. "But on Tuesday I'll be all alone with my thoughts. Maybe a racy romance novel. A bubble bath. But no man beside me." I prop myself up on my elbow and focus on Damien. "Such a shame my boyfriend works for such a slave driver."
Damien holds his hands up in surrender. "This one's not on me. The man's just too damn qualified. The system tests have to happen on Tuesday, and Ryan has to be there."
"What can I say?" Ryan adds. "I'm essential."
I hook my arm around his neck, then pull him to me for a quick kiss. "Yes," I say sincerely. "You are."
"Does anyone want more food? A refill on a drink?" Syl stands and heads over to the kitchen area, glancing at each of us in turn.
"I couldn't eat another bite." I flop back onto the chaise. "In fact, I'm not sure I can ever move again. I may have to just stay here forever. Right on this lounge chair." I turn my head so that I can see both Syl and Jackson. "You guys don't mind, do you? I don't take up that much room."
"No problem," Sylvia says, but Ryan stands and scoops me up into his arms.
"No way," he says. "You're not getting away from me that easily. In fact," he adds as I kick and squeal, "we should probably be going. I have plans for this woman tonight."
"Oh, you do?" I catch Nikki's eyes. She's smiling, but I see a hint of worry on her face, and realize it's from our earlier conversation.
"I do," he confirms. "And trust me, Jamie, you want privacy."
The others laugh, and we say our good-byes after Syl assures me that she doesn't need help cleaning up. Then Ryan carries me all the way down to his sleek 2005 Thunderbird convertible, which I think is one of the prettiest cars on the road.
The sun hangs low in the sky as I settle into the passenger seat, and Ryan eases the car out of the drive. As soon as we're heading down the hill toward the Pacific Coast Highway, he reaches over and takes my hand.
"Good day?"
"A great day," I say. And then, even though the words scared me just this morning, I shift in my seat to face him and say, "I love you."
He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my fingers. "You have no idea how much I like hearing that."
My smile grows wide, and I sit back, content, as we head toward the ocean, vast and alight with so much evening color it looks like the backdrop of a movie set.
Nikki and Damien and Sylvia and Jackson are probably still on the patio. Still looking toward the west and seeing this very same view. I can picture both couples so clearly. Damien's arm around Nikki's shoulders. Jackson standing behind Sylvia, his arms possessive around her waist. They're all so blissfully happy. More than that, they fit together.
They fi
t the same way that Ryan and I fit.
I squeeze his hand, and he glances at me. "Hey, kitten."
"You say it like that, and you make me want to curl up and purr."
"Is that so? Well, tell me how I say it so I never stop."
I glance down at the floorboard, feeling suddenly awkward as I whisper, "You say it like I'm everything in the world to you."
"Oh, kitten, don't you know that you are?"
I nod, and then I say the only thing I can, because it's the absolute truth. "Yeah. I do."
He stops at a light and turns to me more fully. We're facing the sunset, but I don't think it's the vibrant light that has put that heat in his eyes. "Do you?" he asks. "Sometimes I wonder if you really understand how much I feel for you."
My heart twists in my chest, and right then I wish I could kick my own ass. Just the thought that I've hurt him--that he's doubted me for even a minute--makes me want to cry. I've been so wrapped up in my own fears, I never thought that he would begin to doubt.
"Ryan," I say, my throat thick with unshed tears. "I do know it. And I hope you know that I'm yours. Because I am. Completely."
I see the flicker of a smile on his lips. Then the light changes and he turns away, making a left turn onto the Coast Highway and heading for home. He'll keep driving until we hit Santa Monica and the 10, where we'll quit skirting the coastline and head inland toward home. Ryan has a small one-bedroom house here in Malibu, but for the past few months he's spent ninety percent of his time at my place in Studio City. It's closer to both our jobs, and it has the advantage of a second bedroom--the one that used to be Nikki's--that I use as both an office and an overflow closet.
Plus, I like being in my place. I'd almost given it up when I'd moved back to Texas not long ago. Ryan's the one who pulled me back to LA, but if I'd moved in with him and let my tenant keep the condo indefinitely, it would have felt like I lost a piece of me.
Maybe that's my problem. Maybe I'm looking at love as giving something up, instead of making something better.
It's an unpleasant thought, mostly because it feels so dead-on accurate. And it probably makes sense, too. My parents have always been madly, blissfully in love. So much so that I felt like a third wheel my entire life. Loved, yes. I was never neglected or abused or any of the horrors you hear about these days. But neither of my parents adored me as much as they adored each other. And they both sacrificed so much. My mother gave up law school. My father abandoned his dreams of painting. They didn't ask each other to do that--but they each walked away from things they loved because they wanted to give that extra time to each other.
I've always been terrified that I'd do the same. That love was so consuming it stole a piece of you.
But now I think of Ryan. I think of my friends, all so desperately, fully in love.
Mostly, I think that I've been wrong.
I settle back in my seat, feeling more content than I've been in weeks, and that's when I realize that we're no longer on the highway. Ryan has turned off, and is now maneuvering the lanes of a public parking area. I glance around to get my bearings and discover that we're in the parking lot next to the iconic Gladstone's restaurant. "You can't possibly be hungry," I say.
"Not the restaurant," he says as the attendant points him toward an empty slot. "I thought we'd take a walk and watch the sunset."
That sounds about as awesome as awesome gets, and soon enough my hand is in his and we're walking down the path to the sand. It's loose at first, and I slip a bit. Ryan catches me before I fall, then presses a kiss to my temple. When he pulls back, his eyes search mine, and I feel a catch in my chest, like I'm holding in a gasp. There's power in his eyes. In the way he's watching me. And I feel as though we've hit some sort of crossroads without either of us really knowing how we got here.
I expect him to say something. To give me an ultimatum. To tell me that I've been an idiot--basically, I expect him to lay out for me everything I've been thinking.
But he doesn't. He just holds me. Just looks at me.
And then he nods a bit, as if he's seen something in me that satisfies him. And then he takes my hand again and says, very simply, "Let's walk."
"Okay." I'm not sure if I'm relieved or frustrated. But I fall in step beside him, and we head down to the surf. The water in the Pacific is always cold, but it's colder in February, and we keep our shoes on and walk just out of reach of the incoming waves.
"I need to go to Boston," he says after we've walked for about five minutes in silence. I'd been looking to my right at the grand expanse of the Pacific and the sun now hanging like a vibrant ball, just inches above the horizon.
Now, I turn away from the cacophony of color that is bleeding across the water, oranges and purples so rich they make my heart ache from the beauty of it. "For work? Or your mom?"
"Mom," he says. "Her sixtieth birthday is Friday. I thought I'd fly out on Thursday."
"Oh. Okay." I have no idea where this wave of melancholy has come from, but I smile my way through it.
"I'd rather you go with me," he says. "But I know you're working."
"Really?" I ask, and the sadness disappears, brushed aside by the certainty that he wants me there.
His brow furrows. "Jamie--I..."
His words have trailed off, and he's turned away from me, so that he's looking out at the sunset, too. The deep orange sun is now sitting on the horizon, and in my mind, I hear the sizzle as gallons upon gallons of seawater boil from contact with the fiery orb.
"Ryan?" I ask tentatively. "What were you going to say?"
He turns to me, and I see an unexpected vulnerability in his eyes. "You baffle me sometimes," he says. "How can you not know that I'd want you to go with me? Sixty years, and so much of that without my father. I want her to be with family. With me. With Moira. And the person who's most important to me at my side."
I swallow a knot of tears. Ryan's father died in the line of duty when his sister--who'd been a surprise and is much younger than Ryan--was only eight. Ryan became the man of the house, almost a father to Moira. And family is incredibly important to him.
"Do you really not understand how much you mean to me?" he continues. "Or are you just too stubborn to let yourself believe it?"
I open my mouth to answer him and taste the salt of those damn tears. "I don't know. I guess the bottom line is that you've fallen for a girl who's a complete basket case."
"Don't talk trash about the woman I love."
I smile at that, then slide into his arms and let him hold me tight. It feels so safe in his embrace. So right.
I release a long, slow breath. "I know you've been frustrated with me lately," I say carefully.
"With you? Not possible."
I can hear the humor in his voice, and I fight not to smirk.
"You couldn't be frustrating if you tried," he continues.
It's so ridiculous that I can't help but bark out a laugh. "And that's why I love you," I say sincerely. "You take me as I am."
"As you are is what I love."
It takes me a second to unwind that sentence in my head, but when I do I'm smiling. "That is so not grammatically correct," I say.
Ryan's lips barely curve, but the smile still reaches his eyes. "Maybe not. But it's heartfelt."
I don't answer. Instead, I take his hand as we continue walking along the sandy shore.
"My mother adores you," he says once the gray of twilight has settled around us.
"You mean she doesn't know what to make of me," I counter. In fact, his mom has only met me twice, but I've loved her from the first minute I met her. "She says that your dad would have called me Spitfire." I pretend to be affronted, but I know Ryan can hear the affection in my voice.
"He probably would have. And he'd have been right on the money," Ryan adds, and I hip-bump him. "I really want you there--"
"Ryan, don't. You know I have to work, and you're just going to make me feel bad. I mean, I'd love to see her, too." And the fact that he wan
ts me there only makes the not going worse. The last thing I want is for him to rub it in.
"I was thinking maybe I should fly her out here instead. Do it up big. Get her a suite at a fancy hotel. Maybe arrange a full day for her and Moira at a spa. You, too, if you want. But if that's too much, at least you could get away for a dinner, couldn't you?"
"I--" I stop walking so that I can face him. "I could totally make a dinner work. But don't you want to go home for her birthday? Won't her friends want to celebrate, too?"
"It's up to her, but I think she'd like the trip. I've been wanting to do this for a while, but she always turns me down. But I think for sixty years, she'll agree. It's a big deal, after all."
"Yeah, it is. And you--"
"It's a big deal," he repeats softly. "I'd like you to be part of it."
My cheeks hurt and I realize my smile is stretched impossibly wide. "Okay. If she's in, so am I. I think it sounds great."
"Then that's the plan." He leans in and brushes a kiss to my temple, then whispers, "Thanks, Spitfire."
I playfully smack him as I back away. I don't get far, though, because he pulls me back, his arms going immediately to encircle my waist. We're pressed close together and I can feel his erection through his jeans. It's a moment that's both sweet and sexual, and right then I know that I have to have this man.
Not physically--well, not right now; I'm content to wait until we get home to strip him naked.
No, I want to have him. Physically, emotionally, completely.
And I really don't understand what's been holding me back.
"Do you remember that day in Vegas?" I ask. "When I was an idiot and left and you came after me?"
"I have a vague recollection."
"We looked over and there was a billboard for a Vegas wedding chapel. And you said something about how we could head on over there."
He stays quiet, but I feel the muscles in his body tighten, as if he's making an effort not to move.
"I said I didn't want a Vegas chapel. That I wanted a big wedding because I'd been working so hard with Nikki and saw everything she was choosing for her own wedding. I--I made you think I'd be cool with a wedding. With a marriage. But later when you started hinting that you were going to ask me, I backed away like a scared rabbit, and I--"
