If I Stay

by Tamara Morgan

  Ryan frowned. “You came at his bidding?”

  “I came at his request. It’s not the same thing.” And if you asked her, it wasn’t that big of a deal either way. Even if she had been dancing her way across Europe with the world falling at her feet, she’d have come home the second Mr. Montgomery said the word. “Why does that make you so upset?”

  “It doesn’t. It’s just...” He looked away and the back of his neck tensed, leaving her with the strong impression that he was angry. But if he was, the feeling either dissipated or he managed to hide it. He hopped down from the table before extending a hand to help her.

  She slipped her palm into his, savoring the rough texture of his hand—how hot and dry it felt, almost feverish. He kept his grip for longer than was necessary, his gaze searching as they stood face-to-face. “I sometimes wonder about how much control he has over you. Over all of us. Promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

  Careful of what?

  She thought she said the words out loud, but she must not have, because Ryan didn’t elaborate. He just shook his head and turned away as Holly came bursting into the kitchen, ending their tête-à-tête with several pieces of broken pumpkin under her arm.

  Chapter Eight

  “Well, Car Man—what’s the word?” Jake sat behind the wheel of the 1939 Buick Coupe at the far end of the garage, driving nowhere. Ryan had been in the middle of replacing the fuel pump on the coupe when he left the night before, assuming no one would enter the sacrosanct grounds of his workplace in the meantime.

  He should have known better. There wasn’t a thing on this planet Jake considered holy unless you counted his own reflection. Despite the early hour, the bastard looked bright and chipper and right at home in the burgundy leather driver’s seat, a fedora and a pinstripe suit away from traveling through time.

  As if to cement his suitability to a bygone era, Jake jumped out of the convertible without bothering to open the door and shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his perfectly creased slacks. Had he even gone to bed last night?

  “Did you decide which car you can sneak out for my moonlit ride into New York next week?” Jake asked. “I’m ready to put the old girl’s top down and see how she purrs.”

  Ryan’s hands formed twin fists, and he had to remind himself that he was being goaded on purpose. It didn’t take a genius to realize he was being used as a pawn in some sort of game of power between Mr. Montgomery and his son. One man wanted him to help woo the nanny. The other wanted him to stop that very thing. He was caught in the middle with nowhere to turn.

  Which was fine. Whatever. He could handle himself, would walk away with his head held high before he’d let either man do so much as scratch his surface.

  But the fact that they seemed to be using Amy as well... Instead of loosening, his fists only grew tighter, feeling a powerful pull to implant themselves in Jake’s face. Amy might see nothing but good intentions and dewy-eyed affection when she looked at these two men, but that was proof of the existence of her good nature. Not theirs.

  “I don’t recall agreeing to sneak you out anything.” Ryan admirably restrained himself from planting his fists anywhere bones could break. “I told you—your dad was less worried about the damages I caused and more worried about the fact that I drove one of the cars without his permission. If you want to take Amy out again, you’re going to have to get creative.”

  “Creativity has never been my strong suit. But then, neither has falling tamely in line with my father’s plans.”

  “And why, if you don’t mind my asking, is this my problem?”

  “Because you owe me.” Jake sidled up next to him, so close he could wrap an arm around Ryan’s shoulders, but somehow all the more remote because he didn’t. There was something about the way that man carried himself—close but so far above—that made Ryan itchy under the collar. Who was he kidding? Everything about this man made him prickly. “And because you know my dad would hate it.”

  Ryan held himself perfectly still. “What does that have anything to do with this?”

  “Let’s just say I have a radar for antipathy directed at that man’s door. It calls to me. Warms me to my very soul.”

  “That’s a strange way to talk about the man who gave you life.” Not to mention a man whose money provided Jake’s entire overblown day-to-day existence.

  “Am I wrong?”

  He paused. No, Jake wasn’t wrong. But he wasn’t right, either.

  Ryan chose his next words carefully, determined not to take a side. “I’ve known a lot of powerful men in my lifetime—Hollywood is practically teeming with them. In my experience, powerful and great rarely go hand in hand.”

  “Well, that’s where you’re wrong, my friend. My father is both powerful and great.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “On the contrary, I say that like a man who is neither. Ignore me, Ryan the Car Man, if you expect to leave this place alive. My words are tinged with jealousy. I can’t be trusted.”

  Ryan believed it. And then didn’t believe it, because it sounded an awful lot like one of those riddles he’d always hated as a kid. A prisoner faces two guards: one who will lead him to death, the other who will lead him to freedom. One guard always lies and the other always tells the truth. The prisoner can ask only one guard one question to save his own life. What is that question?

  And where can I get a fucking drink? wasn’t the right answer.

  “Well, if you won’t give me a car,” Jake continued, walking slowly around the coupe and trailing his fingers on the pristine cream finish, “at least tell me what else there is to do around here.”

  “Work.”

  “Hilarious.”

  “Ride a bicycle.”

  “Even funnier.”

  “Play laser tag.”

  “Right. Because that’s exactly what women love to do in their downtime.”

  Ryan didn’t bother to correct him. Jake was clearly chafing under the restrictions of his current predicament, and Ryan was happy to let him continue doing so. Let him chafe so much he bled.

  “What I’m looking for is a grand gesture. Something big. Something memorable.”

  “Something that will eventually get back to your dad’s ears?”

  Jake released a quick laugh—one that, if Ryan didn’t know better, sounded genuine. “Naturally. If there’s one thing you need to know about my family, it’s that we rarely do anything without an ulterior motive. We’ve usually got three or four of them overlapping. But it would be nice to come up with a date that Amy might actually enjoy going on. Despite what you think, I do care about her.”

  There was a note of sincerity in that remark too—which was what Ryan would later blame for the words that crossed his lips next.

  “Her mom.”

  Jake’s head snapped up, his eyes glittering cold and hard. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Her mom.” Ryan stepped closer, refusing to look down at the challenge the other man practically radiated. He’d committed to it now—to the unpleasant idea of helping plan this date, to helping Jake impress Amy so he could secretly keep an eye on things per Mr. Montgomery’s request.

  Fuck. This family was phenomenal at twisting his motivations around theirs, mixing the two until he no longer knew which ones belonged to him.

  “You want a high-profile date, her mom is it.” Ryan shook his head at his own folly. “Take the pair of them out to lunch or to a beach or something. I know Amy would love a chance to see more of her—and she practically raised you, right? Even your dead heart must feel something for the woman.”

  Jake’s piercing gaze softened, something like admiration overtaking him. “It’s perfect.”

  Of course it was—it was exactly what Ryan would do in Jake’s stead. “I know. You can chat a
bout old times together. Be your charming douche bag self.”

  Jake’s laughter, this time, was a shout no one could question the veracity of. “You really hate me, don’t you?”

  “Even more than your father.”

  “Then why are you helping me?”

  Ryan paused, wondering how best to answer that question. The truth—that the lure of Hollywood being dangled in front of him had him questioning every scruple he’d ever had—was one he didn’t care to think too much about, but he couldn’t come up with a believable lie.

  “Oh, I see,” Jake said a long pause later. “You like her.”

  Ryan looked away, his throat tight. His feelings for Amy were the least relevant factor here. Even if the sight of her made it difficult to breathe, even though he’d almost fallen into her kiss and never come up again, he could at least assuage his conscience on that score. He wanted her—he ached for her—but he wouldn’t trifle with her just to scratch a particularly insistent itch. He wasn’t an animal.

  “Of course, there is still the tricky matter of transportation to contend with.” Jake fixed his attention on his fingernails, acting as though he hadn’t just peered directly into Ryan’s soul. “I’m clearly grounded here, and I hate to ask the lady to lower herself to the role of chauffeur.”

  It was Ryan’s turn to acknowledge a begrudging laugh. “No. Life doesn’t get much lower than having to shuttle other people around, does it? I’d offer you my own ride, but it only has two wheels. But if you don’t mind sitting in a vehicle that costs less than twenty thousand dollars, I can probably find a way to make alternate arrangements. There’s a rental company downtown.”

  “You’ll arrange things and do the driving?”

  Ryan shrugged. Why the hell not?

  To his surprise, Jake extended his hand. Even more to his surprise, he found himself shaking it.

  “Thank you,” Jake said. “I appreciate you doing this for me.”

  “I’m not doing it for you,” Ryan said, but he could have saved himself the breath. They were both aware of that fact already.

  * * *

  “You’re really not going to give me any hints?” Amy was one squeal away from being a kid on top of a Ferris wheel, complete with cotton candy smeared in her hair. “Not even an eensy weensy one?”

  “Did you talk like that before you were a nanny?” Ryan asked, his voice rougher than he intended. “In grown-up conversations, I mean?”

  She stuck out her tongue. “Somebody’s grumpy wumpy today.”

  You don’t know the half of it. “I guess I didn’t realize you loved surprises so much.”

  There was everything childlike about her expression, which professed a fondness for surprises that surpassed ordinary mortal belief—and nothing childlike about the way she turned and performed what could only be termed a booty dance. Arms in the air, striped shirt stretched taut against her breasts, ass out, she was a pole away from getting dollar bills stuffed in her panties.

  They were both lucky Ryan was damn near broke.

  “Are you kidding?” she asked when she was done. Her face suffused with color, brightening the freckles across her nose. “I live for surprises. Especially when they involve an afternoon off for no reason at all. Jenna said she flew in just to watch the twins for me today—had this whole story ready to go about how she wanted some alone big sister time. Wasn’t that sweet of her?”

  Yeah. Sweet. Or possibly the machinations of a brother who had all sorts of blackmail he kept stashed under his bed.

  “I’m sure she’s a real gem,” Ryan said dryly.

  “Oh, she really is.” He wasn’t sure whether Amy purposefully misunderstood his sarcasm or not, but there was no mistaking the warmth in her tone. “Haven’t you ever met her? She’s fantastic. Even though it would have been really easy for her to coast through life, she’s wicked smart and even more beautiful. You’ll fall in love with her on the spot—every man does.”

  “That shows what you know. I’ve always had a taste for highly unattractive women.”

  Amy released a peal of laughter and wound her arm through his. He jumped at the sudden brush of contact, willing himself to stop being such a dunce even as the blood grew heavy in his veins and settled in his groin. If he didn’t stop losing his shit every time Amy touched him, things were only going to get complicated. His cock shifted. And obvious.

  “Oh, Ryan. Of course you like attractive women. You’re a car man. Car men are notorious for only going after the hot ones. It’s all about the tits and ass for you guys.”

  “Is that a fact?” he asked in a strangled voice. Amy leaned closer as she spoke, her own tits pressing warm and tempting against his arm. He felt like he was twelve years old again and taking a girl to his first dance. Those slow dances had been an agonizing balance of copping as much of a feel as you could without springing into an awkward boner and scaring your date away. Most of the boys he knew had to wear a cup underneath their Sunday best.

  Come to think of it, that wasn’t such a bad idea...

  “Oh, yes. I have theories on the subject. Entire dissertations. I’ve always been long-winded.” Amy began leading the way to the garage through the stone passage. It was underhanded of him, and slightly Montgomery-like, but he’d managed to swing it so that both Jake and Amy’s mom were waiting at her house for them to arrive and head to the beach as a collective group. Which gave him half an hour—possibly forty-five minutes—in which he had Amy all to himself.

  He purposefully slowed their steps.

  “Want to hear my theory?”

  “I’d love nothing more,” he said, and meant it.

  “Well, it’s like this.” She paused and turned to face him. She did that, he noticed—stopped whenever she was having a conversation, determined to give her full attention to whoever happened to be her lucky partner at the time. “Car men—that’s guys like you and Mr. Montgomery—are obsessed with things like speed and winning and flashy exteriors, right?”

  He inclined his head in agreement. “That’s true. Is this where you tell me that we also only like women who are fast and flashy? Because you’re not breaking any ground with that one, I can tell you that right now.”

  “Oh, that’s only the start of it. Because even though you’re all about the flame paint jobs and the sweet rims—stop laughing. I’m quite hip with the kids these days. Sweet rims are all the rage.”

  “I’m sorry,” he managed. “Please continue.”

  She cleared her throat and stared him down. “As I was saying, even though you’re all about the sweet rims, you’d never be caught dead rattling along in a gorgeous car with a piece of crap engine inside. Would you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Exactly. That’s because you guys always focus on the car’s engine first. You get in there and play with your nuts for hours—honestly, Ryan, if you’re going to keep laughing, I’m not telling you the rest of my theory—and if anything is the least bit off, that baby stays in the garage. The killer body only matters if everything under the hood is already in working order.”

  He stopped laughing as suddenly as he’d started. Amy was beginning to make sense. He did enjoy a killer body. And as he was rapidly coming to learn, he enjoyed the inner workings even more.

  “So for you, a nice exterior to run your hands over is useless unless there’s a flawless engine to match. Which means, of course, that anytime you see a car guy out with his curvaceous Porsche, chances are he’s already looked under the hood and given it his seal of approval. No one is more attuned to the whole package than a car guy.” Amy nodded once, pleased with herself. It was still a working theory, but she’d had ample time to lie in bed—alone—lately, trying to figure it out. “Well? I see I’ve rendered you speechless with the depth of my wisdom.”

  “You’ve rendered me something,” Ryan s
aid, his expression difficult to read.

  She thought for a moment that he might keep going, open up for once, but he gave a small shake of his head and checked his watch. “But we should probably get going. I have an itinerary I’m supposed to stick to.” He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and continued walking.

  “And you’re really not going to give me a clue where we’re going?” She rushed to keep up. “Not even to tell me if I’m wearing the right thing?”

  He stopped and looked at her. Really looked at her—his gaze running over every square inch, leaving no thread of fabric unturned. Undressing her with his eyes seemed the most accurate phrase.

  “You’ll do,” he said, once she stood stripped and naked and, if she was being honest, panting a little. If he was capable of starting her engines—pun intended—without even laying a finger on her, what would happen if he really tried?

  Oh, man. If Ryan wasn’t about to whisk her away on a date with another man, she’d... She’d, what, exactly? Attack him in the empty passageway? Sneak into his apartment in the middle of the night and lie in his bed, waiting and naked, until he came home?

  Obviously her seduction-planning skills needed a bit of a tune-up.

  “How’d you get recruited into all this anyway?” Amy asked. They bypassed the garage and went out to the employee lot. Ryan led her to a car she didn’t recognize—understated, white, bland, a lot like her, actually. “Is that what Jake was talking to you about the other day at lunch?”

  “Sort of.” That wasn’t much of an answer, but it was all he gave her to work with.

  “And why are you driving this heap around?” she continued as they both got in and he started the car. “Planning on taking us into another ditch today?”