Challenging Andie

by Sally Clements

  It was the most ridiculous advice Andie’d ever heard. She’d been flirted with, shocked out of her skin, thrown right into the bowels of despair reliving her mother’s death, then pushed around by a greedy bunch of vultures waiting outside her house. How could she possibly just close her eyes and fall asleep? She closed them anyway.

  When Andie floated back to consciousness, she was surrounded in warmth. She breathed in the scent of sandalwood and warm man and snuggled closer. She seemed to be floating in the air. It was like being in the middle of a cloud. Except for the hardness underneath her cheek, and the heartbeat that thudded in her ear as it rested on that warm, firm surface. “Mmm,” she murmured.

  “We’re here.”

  Andie heard the words, and felt them rumble through the surface beneath her cheek. Her eyes flicked open, and the soft, dreamy state she’d been in evaporated in a heartbeat. “What… Put me down.”

  Her body tilted, the warmth disappeared from behind her legs, and then she felt solid ground under her feet.

  “I’ll just find the key.”

  Ryan left her standing on the doorstep of a cottage smothered in some sort of red-leaved creeper. He picked up flowerpots and looked under them, apparently without any luck, if the curse words he muttered were any indication.

  “She said third.”

  Ryan darted her a glance. “Right.”

  As he stooped, the denim of Ryan’s jeans pulled tight against his rear. Andie felt her cheeks heat in a flush. It was hardly polite to be checking him out. She glanced away. It wasn’t anything personal, it was just reflex.

  She bit her lip as a little voice inside disagreed. Right. It might be reflex to check out a man surreptitiously, but it wasn’t reflex to have your heart bounce around like a tennis ball in your chest in response. There was nothing reflex about that.

  He scrabbled under a large blue glazed pot. “Got it.”

  Straightening, he looked at her strangely. No doubt because of the flush that she could feel painting her firehouse red again. “You okay?”

  “Of course.” What was it they said? Something about the best form of defense being a good offence? She lifted her chin, and strode in through the door he swung open.

  Dust motes danced in the air. The front door opened straight into a bright sitting room. Andie breathed in the musty scent. It had obviously been closed up for a while.

  Ryan strode to the window and jerked it open. “There’ll be nothing in the fridge, but Brianne always has coffee and whitener. She can’t function without it.” He grinned and walked into a small room leading off the sitting room. “Found it. Do you want a cup?”

  “Yes.” Andie glanced around the room, building a mental picture of the elusive Brianne with every glance. Color. The woman was obviously all about color. The walls were painted a warm yellow, and a large portrait of a pre-Raphaelite beauty hung over the fireplace. A basket of logs sat next to the grate, and a brightly patterned rag rug covered the polished floorboards.

  “She only uses this place at weekends.” Ryan walked through with two mugs of coffee. “It’s her bolt hole.”

  “Must be nice to have friends like her,” Andie said. She had plenty of friends she could call on in a crisis. They’d all been there for her since her mother’s death, and she knew they wouldn’t hesitate to offer their homes to her if she asked.

  Somehow the thought of Ryan having a female friend he was so close to set a niggle of disquiet in her stomach. Maybe this stranger was the one he’d meant when he’d joked he was frightened of marriage.

  Ryan set the mugs on the coffee table.

  Andie picked up a framed photograph from the mantelpiece.

  A couple stood smiling into the camera. Ryan, with his arm around a smaller woman whose hair was cut in a smooth, pixie-like cap, rather like Audrey Hepburn’s. Her wide smile lit up the photograph.

  “Is this her?”

  Ryan walked over and took the picture out of her hands. “Yes, that’s us a couple of years ago.” A fond smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he looked down at it. “She’d just finished her exams. We were celebrating.”

  A stab of jealousy pierced Andie. “She won’t mind you bringing a friend here?” She meant woman friend, but managed to avoid saying it.

  Ryan frowned at her. “Why would she?” He replaced the frame on the mantelpiece again. “Bri’s always happy to share.”

  Happy to share? Was he serious? No woman alive was happy to share. Any man who even thought… Andie crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not happy to share. I bet she isn’t either. Anyway, we won’t be going there, so I guess it doesn’t matter.” She looked away, annoyed for actually caring just how he led his life.

  Ryan tilted her face up to his. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “If you care about someone…” Andie started.

  “Oh, Christ!” A huge smile transformed Ryan’s face. “You think I’m talking about the two of you sharing me? That’s…”

  Andie felt her mouth tighten.

  Ryan’s smile died. “I’m not laughing at you. I only ever have one lover at a time. Before you say anything else, I guess I better tell you right now that Brianne is my younger sister.”

  Chapter Three

  An ache bloomed in Andie’s chest. A sister. Ryan had a family. Something she didn’t have any longer. Pain lanced through Andie as reality came rushing back in like the tide. After the car ride, she’d still felt sort of disconnected. Like the moment she woke from sleep in the morning and the ghost of dreams still held her in their grip. Before she had to face the cold fact that all of her family was dead. She was alone.

  “Andie?”

  Ryan’s hand curled over her shoulder, the heat of his palm a welcome link with humanity. He was so close she could see flecks of gold in his emerald eyes.

  Andie breathed in the scent of sandalwood.

  Awareness of the room faded. Time slowed then stopped, stilling her focus. Andie’s sorrow shifted, replaced with a calm that soothed. Awareness prickled with a long look at his mouth, spiked with each racing heartbeat. Moving closer, Andie pressed her lips to his.

  As if knowing the route, eager hands clambered up the rock face of his firm chest. Crested the shoulders covered in soft cotton, and linked behind his neck.

  With a sigh signaling surrender, Ryan responded.

  The press of warm lips against hers wove a spell of wonder. Of rightness. Andie’d been kissed before, but never like this.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Andie kissed him fiercely, desperate to replace the sadness swirling inside with new, intoxicating sensations. One step and their torsos touched. The sundress was too flimsy to wear a bra, and her chest tingled at the contact. Her head swam with the awareness that two light layers of cotton formed the only barrier between their bodies.

  She pulled in a shaky breath, feeling light and giddy. Out of control.

  A hand gripped her shoulder.

  Ryan pulled back, breathing heavily. “We better slow this down…”

  Andie came to her senses as if suddenly drenched by a splash of freezing water.

  What was she doing, throwing herself at this man? Kissing him like her life depended on the press of his mouth against hers? She was never out of control. Never. Her few boyfriends had never awakened such a well of passion. It must be the circumstances. She was upset, thrown out of her usual life by recent events. Otherwise she would never act so recklessly. Andie’s hands fell to her sides.

  “I’m sorry.” She took a step away. Needing distance.

  Ryan’s eyebrows pulled together into a frown. His lips parted, and his chest rose and fell in an irregular rhythm.

  It was scant comfort that at least she wasn’t alone in this maelstrom of passion.

  A shiver chased up her spine.

  Ryan cleared his throat. “You’re cold.”

  Andie nodded.

  “I’ll get one of Brianne’s sweaters.” As if he couldn’t get away quickly e
nough, Ryan turned and walked away.

  Alone, reality hit with the force of a truck slamming into her body while crossing a road.

  Her mother.

  Reporters were clustered around her home, because there was news. In the last few passionate minutes, she hadn’t even wondered what that news might be. Had avoided reality with stolen moments in Ryan’s arms. The thought filled her with self-loathing.

  *****

  In Brianne’s bedroom, Ryan pulled open the drawers and slammed them shut with unnecessary force until he found the one holding sweaters.

  Jeez, Bri’s stuff was a mess. Clothes were rammed in the drawers willy-nilly, making them damn near impossible to close. He couldn’t even identify what she had in there.

  After spending frustrating minutes pulling one garment after another from the bottom drawer, he lost it, pulled the whole damn lot out and threw them onto the bed. Turning his attention to the fabric rainbow, he carefully folded each one in turn. Put the red ones together in a pile, then the peacock blue, and took the one, black item that his colorful sister seemed to possess, and put it aside.

  He didn’t want to go back down there. Didn’t want to be in the same room with Andie while his emotions ricocheted around like a bullet in a bunker. Slowly, he stacked the folded sweaters back into the drawer. His hands were shaking.

  Job done, he slid the drawer shut and sank onto the bed. Andie’d kissed him, and he kissed her right back.

  Ryan lowered his head into his hands and groaned aloud.

  The ring of a cell phone pulled him back to the present.

  “Hello?”

  “Ry, why didn’t you call and tell me you were in the country? What’s going on? You’re plastered all over the news. With that girl…” Brianne’s voice was high and breathy. “Are you okay?”

  “I was going to call you.” The lie tasted ashen. He’d hoped to be back to Bekostan without alerting Brianne. “I’m fine. We drove into a press ambush, that’s why I needed the cottage.”

  “So she’s with you? Andie Harte?”

  “Yes. What are they saying on TV?” He breathed in and held it, hoping to hell Emily’s body hadn’t been found. Andie had had enough shocks for one day, the last thing she needed was more bad news.

  “They’ve found a body.”

  Ryan closed his eyes. His hands clenched into fists.

  “They have to do tests …” Brianne’s voice trailed off. “I’m sorry, Ryan, I know she was a friend.” A moment’s hesitation, then Brianne continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “The body was badly charred. Unrecognizable. It may turn out not to be her.”

  “It’s her.” A rock settled in his stomach. “The press wouldn’t be going so crazy if they weren’t sure. There must be more information they haven’t released to the general public yet.”

  There was always stuff that didn’t make it as far as the front pages, or the TV. Stories of the painful present and bleak future that were deemed un-newsworthy. These were the stories that consumed Emily Harte. She had been committed to revealing the truth about the regime that ruled Bekostan. In two years, she’d done more than any other correspondent to shine the torch of truth into dark corners even her own network avoided.

  She’d been brave and compassionate. A damned fine reporter.

  Ryan felt the pressure in his back teeth as his jaw clenched and consciously relaxed his mouth. When he returned to Bekostan he had work to do. Emily’s work. The most important thing on the agenda was to follow up where she’d left off. He would do the interview in her stead, and show the world that the rebel leader was not a man to be feared, but rather a wise and caring man, who, with the support of the international community, could be the salvation of his country.

  There was a noise from downstairs.

  “I have to go, Bri, I’ll call you later.” Ryan scooped up the sweater and headed for the stairs.

  Andie stood in front of the television, staring at the screen. Ryan took the remote control and paused the feed.

  “We’re…”

  Onscreen was a frozen image of them both captured earlier. Despite the protective arm that curled around her shoulders, fear was evident in Andie’s pale face and panicked eyes. His snapshot self glared at the cameras like a lion defending a kill.

  “What else did you see?”

  “Nothing, just our arrival at the house…”

  Ryan eased her down onto the sofa. “We need to talk.”

  Her gaze flickered up, eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

  “They’ve found your mother’s body.”

  At the words, her face crumpled. Dark eyelashes blinked rapidly. After a few moments struggling for composure, she took a deep breath. “Tell me.”

  Ryan passed on the Brianne’s news, watching pain bloom in her expressive eyes. “Do you want to watch it?” he asked carefully.

  “I think…yes.” She clasped his hand.

  Ryan clenched his teeth to avoid reacting to the flash of electricity that shot through him at the contact. He breathed in deep as the whole rotten business was played out in Technicolor.

  Just as he feared, they pulled no punches, even showing footage of the charred body briefly. Fragments of scorched white shirt and blue jeans smeared with blood could have belonged to anybody, but he recognized the colorful woven belt as Emily’s. His friend lay dead on the street, and he felt no pain, just a deadened numbness.

  Andie started to cry.

  Scores of times he’d been in the midst of horror, reported dispassionately on tragedy while all around families howled and wept for the loss of their loved ones. This time, detachment was impossible as Andie’s soft sobs pierced his veneer, jumpstarting the urge to comfort. He snaked an arm around her shoulder and held on tight.

  The footage switched to a picture of him and Andie together, the newsreader intoning Andie had disappeared with ‘war correspondent Ryan Armstrong.’

  He held her while she cried. Eventually, when her sobs subsided, Ryan fetched a tissue which she dabbed her eyes with, automatically, as if tears were an everyday reality for her these days. “What do we do now?” Her voice wavered. “I suppose I’ll have to contact the foreign office, identify the remains…”

  “They’ll do that with DNA, the bureau has a DNA profile of all their correspondents. If the agency needs to reach you and can’t, they’ll contact me. I think we should lay low here for a couple of days. Give the story time to be pushed off the front page.”

  Deep inside, Ryan knew there was no way this story would burn out so quickly. The press would be desperate to interview Andie. The only hope was that in a few days once the news had sunk in Andie would find the resources deep inside to deal with it, leaving him free to return to Bekostan.

  *****

  Andie’s eyes flew open in the darkness. Panic squeezed around her ribcage like a vice, and her heart hammered so fast a heart attack felt dangerously possible. She clenched the covers, fighting the urge to scream. Where am I?

  Concentrating on each labored breath, memories slowly returned, lessening the all-consuming terror. The cottage, Ryan…

  Scooting up in bed, she scrabbled for the bedside light.

  In the dim light she pushed back the hair plastered against her forehead and neck. The nightdress was damp with sweat from the fevered dream, and she plucked it away from her clammy skin with disgust.

  It had taken hours to fall asleep. Despite her best efforts, it had been impossible to banish the show reel of news bulletin highlights that played behind her eyelids. In the dream’s aftermath she despaired of being able to sink into sleep again, even though her exhausted body and wearied mind longed to.

  She climbed out of bed. Maybe a shower and change of clothes would help.

  In the sitting room, the television was still on, a lissome female extolling the virtues of a thigh-buster. She crept to the sofa. Ryan had put her in the cluttered spare room, and she’d expected that at some stage during the night he would have climbed the stairs to bed.<
br />
  The sound of deep, even breathing rent the silence. In the dimness long legs could just be seen poking over the couch’s end. He was really much too long for it.

  A warm feeling bloomed inside at his remembered kindness. If he hadn’t been there at the house… She shuddered at the thought of being set upon alone. They would have chewed her up for breakfast, and spat out her bones.

  Andie pushed the bathroom door open, wincing at the loud creak. Moments later she was under the shower’s refreshing spray, offering up silent blessings for the hot water and efficient pressure that massaged her body with pounding needles of water. By the time she’d dressed in the clean nightie from the airing cupboard—didn’t Brianne own anything that was longer than the top of her thighs?—Andie felt human again. And thirsty.

  In the kitchen, she poured a tall glass of water and drank. On her return to the sitting-room light pooled on the rug from a lighted lamp. Ryan had shifted from lying to sitting. He must have pushed a hand through his hair, for it stood up in spikes on top. Ms. Thigh-buster had been abandoned in favor of a vapid soap.

  “I had a bad dream.” Despite the drink, her voice sounded rusty.

  “I heard the water running.” Ryan’s gaze shot to her bare legs then away.

  She shouldn’t feel the warmth that flooded her from just one look. Shouldn’t be thinking of climbing onto his lap and running fingers through his long hair. But she was. Resistance was too difficult. The thought of being with Ryan, taking some comfort in his delicious body was a powerful drive that compelled her forward.

  She touched his hair with shaking fingers.

  “Andie.” Emerald eyes flashed a warning.

  “I can’t go to sleep alone,” she muttered huskily.

  “It isn’t right. We shouldn’t have kissed earlier. You’re vulnerable—you don’t know what you want.” His mouth tightened.

  “I just want you next to me. To keep the memories away.”

  She wanted more, with a desperation that heated her blood as never before. She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to weigh the consequences. Couldn’t, if truth be told. Her world had tilted irrevocably on its axis, and would never tilt back again. She didn’t want him forever, but she needed him just now.