The Maverick's Holiday Masquerade (Montana Mavericks: What Happened At The Wedding 5)

by Caro Carson

  “Seems more like destiny to me.”

  That word again. He wasn’t ready to claim a belief in destiny, but it seemed better than dwelling on how nervous he’d been to see her again.

  Kristen, completely at ease with the situation, helped herself to a bite of his gingerbread. “So, is Ryan Michaels like a stage name? You use it professionally?”

  Back to the rodeo, then. She was too trusting. He wished he deserved that trust.

  “When we met, I only told you my name was Ryan. It was intentional. I didn’t want everyone in town to know who I was.”

  “You said Michaels much later that night, on the church steps.”

  “I was talking about the three-year-old version of me. Ryan Michaels was my birth name. It changed when I was adopted.”

  “Oh, of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t think of that.”

  “Don’t apologize. Please.”

  He had to tell her his real name now. It was the obvious thing to say next, but he hesitated. How well did she know everyone in Rust Creek Falls? His sister and cousin lived there. Maggie Roarke, Lissa Roarke. If for some reason Kristen knew their maiden names, then the bandage would be ripped off whether he liked it or not.

  If the fates were kind, Kristen would only know his relatives by their married names. Maggie Crawford. Lissa Christensen.

  “So what’s your real name?” she asked.

  He wouldn’t have been surprised if his voice cracked like an adolescent. Thankfully, it did not. “My name is Ryan Roarke.”

  He waited, dreading the next spark of recognition, the inevitable are you related to...?

  “Roarke,” she repeated. “I like it.” Then she took a sip of her coffee.

  Incredible. Wonderful. He’d dodged the bullet. She didn’t know Maggie and Lissa’s maiden names.

  Thankfully, neither his sister nor cousin had any business on the Dalton’s family ranch, and he doubted Kristen had ever needed legal help from Maggie Crawford or hung out in the sheriff’s office where Lissa Christensen’s photo might have been on the sheriff’s desk. His cowgirl wasn’t the type to track down everyone’s backgrounds—not like the owner of this diner—and for that, he was grateful.

  “Ryan Roarke. It’s a little catchier than Ryan Michaels, with the two R’s. Do a lot of rodeo performers use stage names?”

  “I have no idea. Roarke is my real name.” He felt the flash of guilt, although he was telling the truth. He didn’t know if rodeo stars used stage names, although it seemed likely some would.

  “It certainly explains why I didn’t find you when I typed ‘Ryan Michaels rodeo’ in my internet search.” She put her head back on his shoulder, and Ryan closed his eyes in both guilt and relief.

  If she assumed he was still a rodeo star, well...they were getting closer to the truth. Bit by bit. Slow and steady, so that nothing would abruptly shatter beyond repair.

  In his mind’s eye, he saw the snow globe hit the church steps.

  He opened his eyes, took in the sight of Kristen curved against him, the soft leather of the booth’s high-backed bench sheltering them both. Nothing harsh. Nothing hard.

  Beyond their booth, outside the wide glass panes of the storefront window, snow started falling in slow, fluffy flakes. He had the fleeting thought that he was inside the snow globe.

  He hugged Kristen to him tightly. He didn’t want anything to break. Not this time.

  “That coffee has got to be cold by now.” The woman in the apron reappeared, holding her coffeepot above their cooled cups, poised for action if he’d just say the word. “You might as well have it warm.”

  Ryan curtly nodded his permission.

  Too harsh. Too hard.

  He mustered up a smile as she poured the hot coffee. “Thank you. Everything here is warm. It’s a nice place.”

  “Well.” She produced a fresh spoon from her apron pocket and set it in front of Kristen. “Well, you just stay here and enjoy. It’s only going to get colder out there.”

  “Oh, man,” Kristen said in a stage whisper. “Somebody’s going to get extra whipped cream from now on.”

  “I heard you,” Matilda said over her shoulder. “You and your old friend just remember that we make wedding cakes here, too.”

  Chapter Nine

  Ryan took her to dinner.

  Kristen took him home.

  Impatient with the slow burn of sexual tension that had been building all day, Kristen led the way back to Rust Creek Falls in her compact SUV and parallel parked on the street of vintage houses. She waited on the sidewalk while Ryan pulled his rented truck into the next closest spot. Her mind was still processing the incredible fact that today was the day that Ryan Michaels had come back.

  No, it was Roarke. Ryan Roarke had come back.

  But while her heart and mind kept feeling surprised—today!—her body was already well beyond that acceptance phase. Every inch of her craved the intimacy which every smoldering look over a candlelit dinner in Kalispell had promised. They were adults who wanted each other, who’d wanted each other since a waltz in July, and the time had come.

  Ryan kept his hands in the pockets of his overcoat as he walked up to her, looking sexy and self-contained. Kristen felt a little shiver of nervous awareness. She might be an adult, but six feet of confident, controlled male wasn’t something she invited into her bedroom. Ever. Her past lovers, which numbered exactly two, might as well have never existed, for all that her experience with them had prepared her for a night with this man. Ryan Roarke was in a league of his own.

  “Which house is yours?” The bass in his voice struck just the right, delicious note.

  She wanted this. Him. Them. So she lifted her chin with a confidence she didn’t quite possess and held up her phone, acting as if she weren’t dying to get him in the door and naked on the floor. “I’ll give you a clue. I told you Jonah was a fanatic about keeping all the original wood. He doesn’t feel that way about the electrical wiring. He’s completely in love with high tech in his buildings. Ready?”

  She punched a code into her phone, and like magic, the second house from the corner lit up. A rainbow of multicolored Christmas lights delineated the elegant lines of its arched front porch. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Ryan shook his head in amusement. “It’s not even Thanksgiving yet.”

  “Less than two weeks away. Come with me. I have to light up the best thing myself.”

  She slid her phone into her pocket as she led the way up the newly installed wood stairs. Just last week, she’d sealed them against the coming winter weather. Today’s flurries were already gone, but she had the satisfaction of knowing the wood had been protected against them.

  On the wide porch, Kristen plugged an extension cord into an outlet near the front door. “Ta-da!”

  Ryan turned to look at her most treasured garage sale find: a molded plastic Santa that was four feet tall and lit up from the inside by an old-fashioned, sixty-watt light bulb.

  “Isn’t he great? He should be in the yard, but I’m keeping him on the porch to protect him from the elements. He’s the real deal from 1968.”

  Ryan had gone very quiet beside her, hands still in his pockets.

  “He needs a Mrs. Claus, of course. He’s half of a pair—you know, the kind where Mr. and Mrs. Claus are leaning forward to kiss each other?”

  Ryan stepped behind her, very close.

  “It’s going to be a challenge to find her, but I’ve got alerts set on eBay.”

  Ryan pulled up the bottom edge of her coat and set his hands on her hips, his fingertips grazing her middle as he held her firmly to him. The street was empty, but her winter coat would have made it hard for anyone to see exactly what he was doing.

  “Until I find a vintage Mrs. Claus, Santa will just have to blow kisses to
the people on the sidewalk, even though I don’t have any neighbors yet. Oh, Lord, I’m babbling, aren’t I?”

  Ryan bent to kiss her neck, nudging her scarf out of the way with his chin, replacing the material’s warmth with the warmth of his mouth as he tasted the soft skin under her jaw. As her knees turned to jelly, he slid one hand across her stomach, wrapping his arm around her waist for support.

  “My keys,” she said, sounding as breathy as a vintage movie star. “Let me just...” She patted her pocket, felt her phone, pulled out her house keys.

  Ryan turned her in his arms and kissed her full-on, capturing her gasp in that zero-to-sixty escalation of passion that she didn’t want to slow down. He moved them farther away from the row of colored lights, pressing her back against the door’s deep framing as he kissed her senseless, or nearly senseless. She kept just enough brain power going to fit the key in the lock and turn it.

  She fumbled for the antique iron doorknob but his hand covered hers, his breath hot against her lips, his body hard against hers. “I’m not coming in,” he murmured between tastes of her.

  “You’re—what?”

  “Not tonight. I’m not coming in.” Then he kissed her, hungry, making love to her mouth the way she wanted his body to make love to hers.

  “Come in,” she gasped. “Now. Please.”

  With a sharp sound of frustration, he jerked her coat up a little farther. Cold air chased his hot hand as he slid from her belly to her lacy, thin bra. He cupped one whole breast, shaping her softness to the contours of his hand. She melted at his touch, sliding down the frame an inch, grasping with her free hand for an anchor until she clutched his coat’s lapel for support.

  She tried to say yes, more, don’t stop, but only whimpered deep in her throat. He stopped caressing her, and they stayed locked in that embrace, not moving, not kissing, just breathing.

  “This is a bad idea,” he said, panting in a way that made Kristen feel incredibly desirable.

  “This is a great idea.” She pressed her head back against the framing so that she could look him in the eye. “This is...powerful.”

  He sharpened his gaze, losing a little of that sexual haze. She knew he remembered using that word when they’d kissed in the summer.

  “So come into the house.”

  “What’s between you and me is not going to disappear,” he said. “It will be powerful tomorrow, and the day after that, and after that.”

  Darn the man for using her own summer words against her.

  He withdrew his hand and tugged her coat down. He still had her crowded against the door, but she felt that he was creating a deliberate distance all the same.

  “If this feeling isn’t going to change, then why not tonight?” Her hand jerked his lapel with her plea, a tiny motion that betrayed her huge frustration. They were so, so close.

  He kissed her pouting lower lip, soothing her. Placating her.

  She didn’t want that. She wanted him, so she let go of the doorknob to grab his other lapel and pulled him to her with both fists. Her kiss wasn’t soothing. It went from zero to sixty for both of them.

  “Because,” he said, a long minute later.

  It took her a second to realize he was answering her question.

  “Not tonight, because you don’t know me. Not well enough for this.”

  “That’s crazy. You’re all I’ve thought about for four months. I didn’t believe in love at first sight, until I met you.”

  After a long moment, Ryan bowed his head. He nodded, even as he turned from her and took a step away, putting real physical distance between them.

  She’d put the word out there. Love.

  Her heart thudded, hard.

  “Until a few hours ago, that love at first sight was for a rodeo star named Ryan Michaels. That’s not me.” His voice sounded harsh. The look in his eyes was...hurt.

  So, he must have left the rodeo, something that had been a huge part of his life. He was no longer a rodeo star, and it bothered him. She didn’t know how to help a man leave a career behind. To make it worse, she’d called him by the wrong name today, a name that reminded him of the worst time of his life. That, at least, she could fix.

  “Your last name doesn’t change my feelings. Ryan Michaels grew into the man Ryan Roarke is. You’ve been you all along.”

  He looked at her across three feet of porch planking as if he were looking at a woman who was far out of his reach. “Trust me on this. You should know me better before we make love. I do mean make love, because as powerful and crazy as this is, it’s real. It would gut me if we made love and you came to regret it.”

  But there is a chance you might.

  The implication was clear. So was Ryan’s expression, his stance. Everything about him as he warned her off seemed straightforward and sincere.

  What could she learn about him that would possibly cause her to regret having slept with him? She didn’t regret sleeping with her college sweetheart, even though the relationship hadn’t lasted. Then there was Captain Two-Timer—

  She regretted that one. Ryan was right; there were a few possibilities that would be showstoppers for her.

  “Okay, then. In the interest of avoiding any future regret, can I ask you a few questions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you married?”

  Surprise flickered across his face. “No.”

  “Involved with another woman? Is there another woman in another small town who thinks you are coming back for her?”

  “No. I’m not using you to cheat on anyone else. It goes without saying that I’d never cheat on you.”

  “It goes without saying.” She still felt like a fool for not having realized the truth about her pilot sooner. “But it’s still better to have that one laid out as a ground rule.”

  “It sounds like there’s a man out there, somewhere, who’d be better off not crossing your path again. Or mine.” He crossed the gap he’d put between them, and brushed a few loose strands of hair away from her cheek. His fingers were cool in the night air. “No other women. An easy promise, one I’ve been keeping since the day I met you.”

  She shivered at his touch and his words, and let her eyes close.

  Kiss me, kiss me.

  He put his hand back in his pocket. “Did you have any other questions?”

  She opened her eyes, disappointed. What else could cause her to regret sleeping with Ryan Roarke, whom she’d dreamed about for months, who’d traveled the length of the country just to see her again? “Do you have a disease?”

  “Fair question. No. Do you?”

  “Oh, you mean...no, not those kind of diseases. I mean, I’ve got nothing, uh, contagious. That wasn’t what I was asking—but we should be asking, of course, I just wasn’t, and...” She could beg him to make love to her without blushing, but everything else seemed to make her cheeks burn.

  She took a deeper breath. “I meant, are you dying of any disease? Am I going to regret making love to you when I find out you have an inoperable brain tumor or something? Not that I wouldn’t still care for you, though. If our time is short, I’d want to make love to you all the more, really.”

  “I see.” His lips twitched into that almost-curve. “Nothing that I know of.”

  “Don’t laugh at me. It would be horrible. Those are my least favorite movies. You can’t drag me into a theater to watch heartbreak like that.”

  She was glad to see his sense of humor returning, anyway, his expression relaxing into a smile, although he maintained his stiff posture, hands in his pockets. As his chuckle made his breath puff out in little white clouds, it occurred to her that he might be cold. They’d had some flurries today, and he was used to the weather in Southern California, not at the Canadian border.

  “We could go inside to talk. It’
s pretty cold out here. I promise not to seduce you.”

  “I can’t make the same promise. Every minute we talk makes you more appealing.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “What turned you on? The talk about diseases or my sorry history of being cheated on?”

  “It was the way you made yourself blush, and the way your past experience makes me feel so protective of your heart.”

  Thud. The man could stop her heart with his words.

  She threw up her hands in frustration. “You know, Ryan, if you’re going to talk like that, you have to take me to bed.”

  He smiled a bit, but he had those sad eyes again. “Let’s give it a little time. Are there any other showstoppers you’d like to ask before I admit that I’m freezing and say good-night?”

  “Showstoppers. That’s exactly the word I was thinking. We’re so alike.” She looked around at her Christmas lights and her plastic Santa. “I’m drawing a blank here. I can’t imagine what you’re afraid I’ll find out about you. Unless...”

  “Unless?”

  “You don’t have any sexual fetishes I should know about? You’re not into, like, Roman orgy reenactments or anything?”

  Ryan crossed his arms over his chest and leaned one shoulder against the wall. “I’m not that cold, after all. Let’s discuss this. Roman orgies are out, then? What other sexual fetishes are off the table? Or on?”

  Kristen crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall, too. “Describe yours for me, and I’ll decide.”

  She’d managed to keep a straight face, but Ryan just about doubled over with sudden laughter. She was laughing, too, when he kissed her softly, then stepped back before she could test his willpower with a more passionate kiss. “On that note, I better leave. I’m already not going to be able to sleep tonight.”

  “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “What’s the earliest possible time I can pick you up?”

  It was so lovely to be with a man who was as eager to see her as she was to see him. “Actually, I have to work tomorrow at the Circle D. I’ll be there by six.”