The Heartless Boyfriend

by Erika Kelly

  As quietly as possible, she opened her door and peered into the hallway. Please be asleep Ruby.

  Not a sound—or a little girl—in the hallway.

  However, she did see a shaft of yellow light spilling onto the hardwood floor from the bedroom across the hall.

  Shouldn’t he be sleeping? She padded quietly to Will’s door and tapped lightly.

  “Yeah?”

  Oh, she loved his deep, raspy voice. Pushing the door wider, she peered into his room. “Everything okay?” She knew what eight hours of sleep meant to him.

  He sat up in bed, pillows bunched behind his back, laptop propped on a mess of blue blanket, and wearing the sexiest tortoise shell glasses she’d ever seen.

  His chin tilted down, as his gaze went from her red-tipped toes, up her bare legs, to her breasts stretching the tank top, to her mouth. “I didn’t hear you out there. How do you move so quietly?”

  “Well, first, I’m not a wild boy who crashes through the house like what you’re probably used to but, secondly, you’re the oldest kid, so I’m guessing you did whatever you wanted and if anyone complained you knocked heads. I’m the youngest. Everyone was always shoving me out of the room or yelling at me to go back to bed.” She gestured to the laptop and stack of papers beside him. “What’s keeping you up so late?”

  “I had video-conferences with three candidates today.”

  Ah, the nanny search. She stepped further in the room. “How’d that go?”

  “The first one was humorless. Ruby needs someone like you, someone who makes life fun, so that won’t work.”

  A flush of joy spread through her. I’m fun? Well, yeah, I am fun, but I love that he thinks so.

  “The second one didn’t think she could handle the isolation of the ranch, and the last one wanted to know if her boyfriend could move out here with her.”

  On his long dresser, snow globes glittered in the light from his bedside lamp. She picked one up and tipped it over. Tiny snowflakes cascaded over the Taj Mahal. “What’d you tell her?” When he didn’t answer right away, she glanced over and found him staring at her all lazy-eyed. No lie, she loved the way he looked at her.

  “I told her she’d be a live-in nanny and that her time would be spent with Ruby. Then, she asked if he could live in the house with us. He’s ‘really into boarding’ and would love to ‘talk shop’ with us.”

  “Ah, okay.” Setting the Taj Mahal globe down, she picked up one with the Palazzo Vecchio in it. She shook it and watched the glitter slowly rain down. “You’ve got more interviews tomorrow, though, right?”

  “Yeah.” His voice turned rougher, and he cleared his throat. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.” Bringing the snow globe with her, she sat on his mattress, tucking one leg under her. “Just restless after my crushing loss.” She smiled, as she turned the globe upside down again and gently shook it. “Thought for sure I had Harry in my pocket.”

  I appreciated the way the chef incorporated local flavors, but it just wasn’t complex enough.

  “He doesn’t know which chef made your dish.”

  “No, I know. I don’t take it personally.”

  His eyebrows shot up.

  “Okay, fine.” She laughed. “I take it personally. But it’s the not complex enough part that gets me. I wanted to take a Sharpie and write, It is totally complex enough.” She watched the flakes drift and glitter. “My dish might’ve looked simple, but each element had so many layers.”

  “He might just be one of those guys you can’t please.”

  “Chef Mathilda pleased him just fine.”

  “She’s the one who did that three-cheese thing?”

  She nodded. “Gougères.”

  “It was just bread stuffed with cheese.”

  “Well, I tasted some nutmeg, some pepper, but yeah, it wasn’t hugely complex.”

  “I’ve never tasted anything like your chutney before, and, believe me, when you grow up around here you’ve had every possible way to use a huckleberry. And that crust on your meat?”

  When people liked her food, it lit a warm glow right in her very center. But when Will liked it…it gave her a shiver of delight.

  “It was more than just espresso and salt, right?”

  “Oh, yeah, it had chili powder, coriander, oregano and pepper. But, I mean, the thing is, when you say a chef’s food isn’t complex…it’s the highest insult. Because that’s literally what we do. That’s what sets us apart from someone who tosses a patty on the grill, flips it, and slaps it on a bun. We layer in flavor.”

  “You definitely did that.”

  “I did. I seared the meat, I toasted and ground my own coriander, I added fresh dill. I put in a splash of soy sauce to give it that umami punch, you know?” By his expression, she realized he had no idea what she was talking about. “I’m saying our whole objective is to give our dishes the kind of complexity that makes them stand out. I know my dish was complex, so I can only assume he meant it wasn’t as complex as the others.”

  “I’m no food expert, but yours had more going on than any of the others. Hands down. It was like the flavors kept elbowing each other out of the way to get to my taste buds.”

  “Did you try any of the others?”

  He nodded, but his gaze had lowered to her mouth. He went lazy-lidded again, as if he’d lost his train of thought.

  She held up the globe. “Tell me the story?”

  “No story.” The color flooding his cheeks said otherwise.

  “A big bruiser like you collecting snow globes? Come on. This has got to be a good one.” She crossed her legs, settling in.

  One corner of his mouth tugged up, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Is this how you pull the ladies in? ‘You wanna see my snow globe collection?’” She used a cheesy masculine voice.

  He laughed. “The ladies don’t see my…collection.”

  “You drape a cloth over them?”

  He laughed. “No. I don’t have sleepovers.”

  “Ever? Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to make Marcella or anyone else uncomfortable. Can you imagine if we all brought home our…ladies?”

  “So that’s what all those houses all over the ranch are for. Do you each have your own?”

  “Our own house?”

  “Your own hookup lair.”

  “Nah. I’m not into hookups anymore.”

  “What? I know you don’t have a girlfriend, and there’s no way a guy like you is celibate. Explain.”

  He shrugged, like it was no big deal. “It was fun in high school and college, but it got…uncomfortable.”

  “I don’t even know what that means. You did it so much you threw your back out and now the old sciatica’s acting up? You’ve slept with every woman in town and now avoid CVS and grocery stores?”

  “No. I just don’t like the imbalance of it.”

  “What imbalance? The nature of a hookup is a one-time thing. You both have fun.”

  “Do you really want to have this conversation?”

  “Oh, honey, I’m wide awake now.” She made a gimme motion with her fingers.

  “I don’t normally have this kind of conversation with houseguests.”

  “Pretty sure we moved past that when you kissed me at the hydroponic farm.”

  More color tinged his cheeks.

  She leaned in. “You know what’s got me on the edge of my seat here?”

  He waited.

  “You’re all serious and reserved…” She paused to see if she could elicit a response, but other than the slackening of his jaw he gave nothing away. “But, underneath, there’s this raging testosterone that I suspect you keep on a tight leash. And it makes me incredibly curious. What does it take…what kind of woman makes you…snap. ”

  His features tightened, his gaze narrowed. “Sweetheart, you don’t want to unclip my leash.”

  “Unfortunately...” She sighed. “I kind of do.”

  His energy went feral, lik
e if she turned on the lights she’d see his hairs standing on end, but he clenched those muscles down hard.

  She leaned back, away from the gale force winds billowing out of all that restrained lust. “No, I get it. I do. You’re all about Ruby and training and don’t want things to get messy. So, go back to explaining why you don’t do hookups.”

  “Delilah.” His voice sounded harsh, like he’d just dragged it across asphalt.

  “What? We’re just hanging out.”

  His gaze dropped to her breasts and then to her bare legs.

  “In my jammies.” She grinned.

  “You overestimate my ability to keep it leashed.”

  “Okay, come on. I’m not even trying here. I’m not flipping my hair or licking my lips or brushing my boobies against your arm.”

  “You don’t need to do any of that.” With a grimace, he shifted his laptop.

  And she understood that, unless she wanted to climb onto his lap and relieve the boner he was undoubtedly sporting under that computer, she’d better stop playing with him. “So, the imbalance?”

  “Jesus.” He squeezed his eyes closed, and it looked like he might be counting to a hundred…million billion. But then he drew in a deep breath, and the tension eased—slightly—in his shoulders. “It’s not that big a deal. I’m just not into kissing women I don’t know. That I don’t feel something for. And I don’t go down on a stranger, either. Which means the hookup isn’t reciprocal, and that doesn’t feel right.”

  “Okay, but if you’ve never had a girlfriend, and you don’t hook up…? I mean, no way a guy like you isn’t getting any.”

  “Really? You can’t come up with any other scenarios? I said I don’t go down on women I don’t know.”

  “Oh, my God, Will. You’ve got a little black book?” She thought of how many months out of the year he traveled for his competitions. “A ‘friend’ in every port?”

  He shrugged. “I have friends that I travel with. Friends who ski competitively. So, when we’re together, we…”

  “Fuck. Go on. Say it.” She shouldn’t be rattling his cage. Not unless she wanted to let the beast out.

  Only, she really, really wanted him out and prowling. She wanted those big hands on her ass, his thighs straddling her hips. She wanted to see him, all of him. She wanted to taste him.

  But he had too much self-control. “We spend time together.”

  “I don’t do hookups, either. Never have. Just not my thing.”

  “Yeah? What’s your thing?”

  A startling image popped into her mind. Will on his knees behind her, hands on her hips, that first rush of bliss as he slid inside her. She imagined his hands cupping her breasts, and her whole body went hot and hungry. You’re my thing. “Every boyfriend I’ve ever had, I’ve worked with. You know, school, kitchen, whatever. I always work super long hours, so I just can’t give anyone the kind of commitment he deserves.” It was kind of sad, wasn’t it? That she was twenty-six, and she’d never been in love? “I know you’ve never had a girlfriend, but have you ever been crazy about someone? Like a high school crush? Or a woman you ski with?”

  “No. I don’t think I’m built that way. I don’t…give much weight to that sort of thing.”

  That sort of thing?

  His phone vibrated, and he reached for it on the nightstand. His brow furrowed when he read the screen. “It’s my manager. He never calls this late.” He gave her a look that asked, You mind if I take it?

  She gestured to the phone. Of course not.

  “This can’t be good.” He hit Accept.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Are you on your computer right now?” Alex asked.

  “Yeah, why?” Tearing his attention away from Delilah physically hurt. All of his senses were attuned to her. To her scent, the bounce of her breasts, and the teasing smile that had him talking about things he didn’t share with anyone.

  But his manger wouldn’t have called if it hadn’t been important, so Will lifted the lid of his laptop and rubbed a finger on the mouse to wake it up.

  “Damien’s taken it to the next level. It’s all over SportsNews.com.”

  “What is?” When the screen came to life, he started to put the address into the search bar.

  “Just go to his YouTube page. You’ll see it there.”

  He typed in YouTube instead. “Do I really want to see this right now?” When I have Delilah all to myself in my bedroom? One glance at her had him wanting to hang up. All that bright, blonde hair—Jesus—he wanted it wrapped around his fist. Wanted it spread all over his thighs. He pressed the laptop down, though it did nothing to relieve the pressure of his hard-on.

  But, yeah, he probably should deal with whatever problem Damien had stirred up now.

  “Up to you,” Alex said.

  “Does it have to do with the investigation?”

  “You know, I don’t think Damien gives a damn about that, and I don’t think it was his intention to get you suspended. He seems out to prove he’s the better athlete.”

  “He’s not.” The way Delilah stroked the rounded top of his snow globe made his cock go hard and need surge through his body. Imagining her fingers wrapped around him sent a volt of electricity through him. Fuck me, I want her.

  What had he told her? I don’t give much weight to that sort of thing.

  Until now. He’d neglected to tell her that part.

  “You on that page yet?” Alex sounded impatient.

  “Listen, I’ve got…company. I’ll look at it in the morning.” He had Delilah all to himself, and he wasn’t giving that up.

  “Okay, call me if you want to talk about it.”

  “Sure. Thanks.” He tossed the phone aside.

  She tipped a chin toward his laptop. “What’s going on?”

  “More of Damien’s bullshit.”

  “What is it this time?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Well, let’s find out. Maybe we can get ahead of it.”

  We. “You get this involved in all your friends’ lives?” She had a little birthmark—tiny thing—right at her temple, and he wanted to kiss it.

  What the hell was the matter with him?

  “No. Just the ones I care about.” She tapped the laptop. “Come on. Let’s see.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he comes up with. I’ll prove it on the terrain.”

  “Yeah, but you know what? As long as Damien’s the only storyteller, a lot of people are going to buy into it.” She rolled forward, twisting around so she could sit between him and the nightstand. Once settled, she shifted the computer so it straddled both their laps. “Let’s not let him control the narrative.”

  Smart woman. Her hair brushed over him, and the insanely soft skin of her arm pressed against his. If he didn’t distract himself with the video, he was going to tumble her back on his mattress and kiss the ever-loving hell out of her. He clicked Play.

  Damien had posted a split screen of the final run of the World Games event. On one side Will performed a cork 1080, while Damien, on the other side, pulled a switch double-cork 1260.

  Will couldn’t imagine why the hell he’d do that, since it would only show that Damien hadn’t gotten enough amplitude.

  Good. Let them see the damn hand drag, too.

  His body tightened in anticipation of his next move when the film cut off, and the screen went black. “Fuckin’ hell.” The footage ended before Will’s back-to-back double-cork 1440s.

  And, of course, before Damien’s hand drag.

  What a pissant, only showing my 1080 and cutting out his technical faults.

  A moment later, Damien appeared, talking to the camera. “Look, I never meant to cause this kind of trouble. I’m only pointing out that, yeah, Will’s good, but he’s not better than every other competitor for the past seven years. And I’m showing you the footage so you can see that, while he might be good technically, he doesn’t have guts.”

  “Is that one of the judging criteria, asshole?
” Delilah kept her gaze on the screen, shaking her head. “Guts?”

  Will paused the video. “Look, anyone who launches himself off a twenty-two-foot ice wall—and then pops another twenty feet above the lip of the pipe—has guts. The difference between me and Damien is that he thinks the more spins he pulls off the better his score should be. But it’s not about flash. It’s about style and flow. It’s about control. It might look cool to pull off extra rotations, but if your arms are flailing and you’re not grabbing your skis, if you botch your landing…then you didn’t pull off your ride. It’s that simple.” He pushed Play.

  “I’m tired of talking about it,” Damien said. “And that’s why I put up the footage. See for yourself. I take more chances, I do riskier tricks, and…let’s just put it out there, I put it all out on the line because I fucking love this sport.”

  “You’re saying Will doesn’t?” an off-camera voice said.

  Damien shrugged. “I don’t know much about him. He keeps to himself. But I do know he doesn’t have heart.”

  “Ha.” Delilah shook her head. “What a douchebag.”

  “Forget it.” Will closed the laptop, reaching across her to put it and his glasses on the nightstand. His arm brushed across her breasts, covered in only the thin cotton of her tank top. He breathed in her vanilla and honey scent, the expensive shampoo, and his soul woke up and just fucking yearned.

  He jerked his arm back. See, that’s the thing. Will had always been a needy fucker. He’d learned at an early age to switch it off, and he had to do that now. Forget that she was Callie’s friend, she was leaving in five weeks. There was no point to any of this attraction.

  Besides, nothing mattered more than Ruby, and he wasn’t going to create an unstable home environment by getting involved with a houseguest.

  But, before he could tell her it was time to get some sleep, she picked up the snow globe. “Tell me.” She pretty much whispered the words, like lovers would do on a Sunday morning under the covers.

  He needed her to go. There was no way to hide his hard-on, not with her soft skin brushing his arm and her bare breasts underneath that tank top. Make it quick. “It’s not a big deal. My parents traveled a lot when I was a kid, and I was that whiny little bitch who pitched a fit every time they left.”