Ryan's Rescue

by Karen Leabo

  Chrissy shivered against him. “It’s so creepy having this guy fixated on me. I think he must be beyond trying to get me back to redeem himself. By firing at the car, he could have just as easily shot me in the head as you in the shoulder. I think he’s gone off the deep end, and he just wants me dead because I humiliated him.”

  Ryan hated to agree with her, so he said nothing. But he suspected she was right. Their enemy was a whole lot more dangerous than he had originally suspected.

  When Ryan saw the bed neatly made with faded floral sheets, turned down like a bed in a hotel, he had to smile. “What, no mint on the pillow?”

  “Not even a pillow. Are you sure this is Josette’s house?”

  “Yeah. I remember it. I think I slept in this room, on this bed, when I visited.”

  “And when was that?”

  “Oh, about a year ago.”

  “That long?”

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and started to lean down to untie his shoes, then thought better of it. He was so dizzy he could easily have toppled over onto the floor.

  “Here, I’ll do that,” Chrissy said, kneeling down.

  She was only touching his feet, he told himself. Don’t get excited. But it was too late to tell his body that. The only thing that was going to unexcite him at this point was unconsciousness...or satisfaction. He found himself fervently wishing for the latter.

  “Josette and I aren’t close. She isn’t close to anyone in the family,” he explained. “She had a terrible time as a teenager.”

  “Don’t we all?” Chrissy asked wryly. She slipped off first one of his shoes, then the other, seeming to linger over the task.

  “Hers was more terrible than most. She took up with a gang—the Pit Bulls, as a matter of fact.”

  Chrissy looked up sharply at that.

  “Drugs, crime, jail, you name it, she was involved with it. She thought it was great fun to be a rebel. Until she was gang-raped and pregnant.”

  Chrissy gasped. She sat down beside him on the bed. “Oh, Ryan, that’s awful. I’m sorry I was flippant about it. What happened?”

  “She had the baby and gave it up for adoption. She ended up having another one three years later, when she was eighteen. She married the father, but he was a slime-bag. He beat her and my nephew. We eventually got rid of him, but it wasn’t easy.”

  Chrissy was listening with rapt attention. He couldn’t blame her. It was a horror story. Sometimes he was amazed that his own sweet sister had lived such a nightmare. She’d had the same upbringing as him, but something had gone wrong.

  “What happened then?” Chrissy asked.

  “She moved to Richmond, then Emporia. She lived with a lot of different guys.”

  “And did she ever straighten herself out?”

  “Well, not really. She’s always done right by her kid, I’ll give her that. She’s a devoted, concerned mother. But she’s not too stable herself.”

  “I’m not surprised, after what she’s been through,” Chrissy said with another shiver. “You don’t have any idea where she’s gone?”

  “No. I never thought she would just move and not tell anyone. It’s kind of spooky.”

  “You have to find her. She might be in trouble. She might need help. And her little boy...how old is he?”

  “Seven, I think. Yeah, that would be right.”

  “It must be so hard. When you find her, maybe I could talk to her,” she said. “I’m about her age, right? And I wasn’t gang-raped or anything like that, but I did go through a similar experience. Maybe just having a friend to talk to would help.”

  “Chrissy, you’re too nice for your own good.” He made good on his promise then, wrapping his good arm around her and kissing the heck out of her.

  She didn’t resist, not even a tiny bit. In fact, he got the distinct impression that she’d been waiting for him to kiss her. She kissed him back, fiercely, moving her lips against his with an insistent pressure, boldly meeting the thrusts of his tongue with her own. She slid her arms around his neck, but even in the throes of passion he could tell she was being careful not to jar him.

  Her total selflessness—especially after the opportunistic way he’d treated her—bowled him over.

  He broke the kiss, reeling from its effects. Much more of this and he would end up face first on the floor. “You know what I’d like to do right now?” he whispered into her hair, close to her ear, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear the improper suggestion about to pour out of him. He couldn’t hold his desire in any longer. He wanted her, and he needed to express that wanting, even if he couldn’t act on it just yet.

  “Mmm, I have a pretty good idea. But I couldn’t possibly allow it.”

  “Why not?” he asked, nuzzling her neck.

  “You need rest, not sex.”

  “Can’t I have both?”

  They both knew that was merely wishful thinking. He was too weakened by his injury to even sustain a good hard-on, though his body was trying.

  “Get under the covers,” she said. “I’ll fix us something to eat and bring it up here.”

  “You think there’s actually enough in the pantry to fix a meal?” he asked dubiously, unbuttoning his jeans. He was having trouble accomplishing the task with his left hand.

  “It might not be gourmet fare, but it’ll have to do.” She started to turn away, then changed her mind and walked over to him. She quickly, efficiently, unfastened the last two buttons of his jeans, then headed for the door.

  “Chrissy?”

  She halted. “What?” she asked, looking everywhere but at him.

  “If there’s any sign of Denny, you call out good and loud. I’ll wake up. And keep that gun handy.”

  She slumped a little bit at the reminder of the danger they were still in. “Okay.”

  Downstairs, Christine found some rice, soy sauce, a can of mushrooms, a can of diced tomatoes, and a little packet of cajun seasoning from some fast-food place. She threw it all together in a sort of meatless jambalaya and hoped for the best. Her snobby French cooking classes hadn’t prepared her for this seat-of-your-pants-style cuisine.

  When she tasted the concoction, it wasn’t half-bad. The bad news was that there weren’t any individual serving dishes of any kind, and there was no silverware. On the top shelf of a cabinet she found one cracked tumbler, which she filled with water from the pump. Not too fancy, but at least it was cold.

  She carried everything upstairs, only to find Ryan fast asleep. She wasn’t surprised. He’d been up most of the night working on his blasted story.

  She decided not to wake him. Hopefully, the rest would help him regain some strength, and he could eat when he woke up. That is, if she didn’t eat their whole dinner first. It smelled pretty good.

  She perched herself on a derelict wooden rocking chair with peeling paint and dug into the pot of rice, using the only utensil she’d found, an old wooden spoon, to shovel the food into her mouth.

  She’d come a long way, she thought, from the formal dining room, bone china and sterling flatware of her father’s house. If Connie could see her now, she would faint from the shock.

  While she ate, she watched Ryan. He slept fitfully, shivering every now and then, making Christine wish she had more blankets. But she’d scoured the house, and other than the dusty sheets covering the furniture downstairs, this was it.

  She very carefully rationed the rice dish, leaving more than half for Ryan, despite her ravenous hunger. He needed it more than she would. She finished the water. Then she took the leftovers downstairs, covered the pot, and set it on the back porch, where it was cooler. She checked around outside, front and back, to reassure herself that no terrorists were lurking about, then returned upstairs.

  Ryan was still shivering. The obvious answer, of course, was body heat. With a mischievous smile, she removed her clothes, laid the gun on the floor by the bed within easy reach and climbed under the covers. She plastered her body against his, tucked her head against his good sh
oulder, and closed her eyes.

  She’d never behaved this brazenly with any man before, not even Doug. But something had happened between her and Ryan during the past few hours. Coming within a hair’s breadth of death had created a bond between them. Although her behavior seemed rash, something only a loose, immoral woman would do, it seemed right somehow. She knew that when Ryan found her there, he would be pleased. He would not find her sluttish or too forward. He would welcome her with open arms.

  She was counting on that. If she was wrong, the incident would be terrifically embarrassing.

  Chapter 15

  Ryan thought this had to be a dream. He’d been drifting in and out of sleep, his throbbing wound and the uncomfortably cold room making deeper sleep impossible. But this was the first time he’d awakened feeling toasty-warm, and he soon figured out why: A naked woman was pressed up against him.

  He was on his back, and Chrissy was flesh-to-flesh with him, all along his left side. Her head rested on his shoulder, her silky hair, now liberated from its braid, tickling his neck. One tendril of her hair lay across his chest. He could feel her warm breath along his collarbone.

  He was instantly hard, and the pain in his shoulder was forgotten. “Chrissy?” he whispered.

  “Yes?”

  So, she was awake. “What the heck are you doing in bed with me? Not that I’m complaining,” he hastily added.

  “You were cold,” she said. “I was tired. It seemed like a reasonable solution to both problems.”

  In his more logical mind, he knew that this wasn’t reasonable at all. Yet nothing had ever felt more right.

  “Are you feeling any better?” she asked.

  “Mmm-hmm, much better,” he said, though better wasn’t the word. He couldn’t recall ever feeling this spectacular in his life. He pulled his left arm out from between them and eased it around her shoulders. If she got it into her head to make an escape, he wasn’t going to let her go easily.

  It was dark outside, but a bright moon shone through the room’s single window. “How long have I been out?”

  “About three hours. I fixed some dinner for you, but you fell asleep before it was ready. I saved some for you. Do you want me to go downstairs and heat it up?”

  “No,” he answered quickly. He had his own ideas about heating up, and they didn’t involve food. He felt so helpless, though. How was he supposed to seduce a woman when he was flat on his back, with only one good hand?

  “You’re not hungry?” she asked.

  He ought to be, he supposed. But he didn’t have room in his brain to acknowledge hunger. His head was too full of Chrissy—the feel of her warm skin against his, the scent of her hair, the soothing sound of her voice. Surely she hadn’t gotten into bed with him naked just to keep him warm. She couldn’t be that naive.

  “I had in mind satisfying an appetite, all right,” he said, then held his breath.

  “Ah.” She didn’t tense up, the way he’d half expected. Instead she snuggled closer. Her hand wandered to his chest and began toying with the hair that grew there, moving gradually lower and...lower. “I was afraid I’d done the wrong thing by joining you like this.”

  “No, sweetheart, it was the completely right thing.”

  “Good.” She reached lower still, then clasped his erection through his briefs.

  He groaned with the pure, white-hot pleasure her touch evoked. “I can’t... Oh, yes, that feels good.”

  “You can’t what?”

  “I’m handicapped with this bum shoulder. I can’t do this the way it ought to be done. You’ll have to do most of the work.”

  “Mmm, you call this work?”

  “I don’t know about you, but it’s making me break out in a sweat. Why don’t you kiss me?”

  “Gladly.” She released him, causing momentary disappointment, but then she was draping her body half over his, covering his face with soft, damp kisses. “I’m sure you’ve...” Kiss. “...made love to a lot...” Kiss. “...of women before.” Kiss. “But have you ever...” Kiss. “...had one make love...” Kiss. “...to you?”

  “Not like this.” He was almost past being verbal. She was focusing on his mouth now, her teasing kisses outlining his lips, finally settling warmly over them. Oh, how this woman could kiss. No, he’d experienced nothing like this before.

  “I’ve never done anything quite like this, either,” she said, her voice husky, as she moved her attention to his jaw, his ear, his neck. Her hair brushed against him, creating a new wave of sensations every time she moved her head even a fraction of an inch. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  “You’re doing fine, Princess.”

  “Don’t call me that.” Despite the scolding, she continued her tender ministrations. “I hate that image. It’s not me, and I think I’ve proved that.”

  Oh, yeah. She was proving it right now, as she invaded his ear with her clever tongue. No icy princess could ever be this hot. “Sorry. I meant it as a term of affection.” And he did feel affection for her. More than that. Stronger. He suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from her, saying goodbye to her. Not after all they’d been through.

  Easy, he cautioned himself. She was here now. That was what was important.

  “S’okay,” she said.

  He wrapped his good arm around her, then ran his hand down her back, her firm flanks, her thigh. “Think you could finish undressing me?” His cotton briefs had become incredibly constricting.

  “Sure I can. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist giving me instructions.” With an admirable economy of movement, she flicked back the blanket, then slowly slid his briefs down his legs. She managed to touch him liberally during the process, and he suspected she was torturing him on purpose.

  “While you’re down there, think you can—” Wait. That would really be taking advantage. His idea of heaven was Chrissy’s tight little mouth wrapped around his member, ,but the last thing he wanted to do was turn her off with his more earthy desires. She was a lady, worthy of respect and dignity, even in a situation like this.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” He reached out and encircled her wrist, then gently tugged. “Come back up here. Lie next to me.”

  “Okay. In a minute.” She was staring at him, or rather at the obvious evidence of his total arousal. Before he knew what was happening, she was kissing him there, just as he’d been about to ask her to do. And it was ten times better than anything he could have imagined, like he had a million nerve endings he hadn’t previously known about.

  He squirmed in pure ecstasy. “Chr-Chrissy, you have to s-stop.”

  She did so, abruptly. “I’m doing something wrong?” she asked, her voice fraught with insecurities.

  “No, Prin—I mean, darling. You’re doing everything fine. I’m the one who’s lost control.” He was actually gasping for each breath. The woman was incredible, no doubt about it. He was about to explode, and he would prefer to do that when they were joined in that perfect way only men and women could be.

  Was she ready? he wondered. He felt like such a klutz. If he wasn’t crippled, he would make damn sure she was writhing and just as hot for him as he was for her.

  “I’m yours, Chrissy,” he said, meaning it with all his heart. “You do with me whatever you want.”

  “But I... Like this?”

  He found her naiveté endearing. “Exactly like that,” he said as she swung her leg over him, straddling him. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

  “Yes, me too.” With those words, she sheathed him, in one swift, elegant movement. She closed her eyes, hands on his chest, biting her lower lip.

  All Ryan could do was groan. This was good. Incredibly good. If he died tomorrow, his life would have been complete.

  But he didn’t want to think about death, as close as he’d come to it today. He wanted to think about living life to the fullest. Life with Chrissy.

  She began to move against him
, and he thought maybe this was a dream after all. It was certainly otherworldly. He lightly touched her thigh, her waist, her flat belly and her breasts as she rode him, memorizing the feel of her, knowing he would want to savor the memory later.

  An exquisite pressure built inside him, familiar in some ways, unique in others. He felt oddly in balance with her, with himself and with the universe, as if his whole life had been building up to this moment, every aspect mysteriously oriented to bring him together with this woman.

  He opened his eyes and found her gazing at him, her eyes so full of love for him that it was spilling over. He realized it then, that she did love him. She didn’t have to say it. He could feel it, like a concrete thing. It had a weight, a texture, a firmness, a color, a scent. He could have painted a picture of it, it was so clear to him.

  Her love surrounded him with warmth and joy.

  The scary part was, he loved her back. He didn’t know how it had happened, but she’d gotten under her skin with her strength, her gentleness, her caring. Her Chrissyness.

  She smiled, her teeth glowing white in the moonlight, then closed her eyes and breathed deep. Her movements became more dramatic, faster, more intense, and his previous sense of control vanished. He was at her mercy now.

  Just when he thought he couldn’t hold on another second, his name was torn from her throat. She went rigid; he exploded, emptying himself into her in wave after wave of the most indescribable delight.

  She slumped forward, laughing and crying at the same time. Ryan felt like doing the same, but he settled for putting his good arm around her and burying his face in her hair.

  “I’d forgotten,” she murmured. A thin sheen of perspiration glossed her back, making it slick where he caressed her.

  Did her comment mean she’d had sex this good before? he wondered. He sure hadn’t. He decided it was better not to delve into the subject of comparisons. He was afraid he might become jealous, and that was such an alien emotion to him, he wasn’t sure how he would handle it.

  It was enough that she was with him now, united with him body and soul. He trusted the future to take care of itself—if they both survived to see it.