“Have you checked out the Belle of the Bayou?” Ryan asked. “It docks not too far from here, and they run dinner cruises all the time. It’s one of the best in the country.”
If Joy hadn’t set down her spoon, she would’ve dropped it in her lap. Of all the remaining historic riverboats, the Belle was her absolute favorite. “You like old riverboats?”
Ryan shrugged. “Who doesn’t?”
“Um,” she said sarcastically, “half the population.” Her family thought she was crazy because she dreamed of honeymooning on a Mississippi cruise instead of jetting off to a Caribbean island. “Most people won’t cruise on anything less than twelve stories high.”
“Then they don’t know what they’re missing,” Ryan said. “We should drive by the Belle on the way home.”
Joy agreed, and they spent the next hour swapping stories and comparing hobbies. As it turned out, they shared an eerie number of common interests—everything from watching cheesy SyFy Channel movies like Sharknado to playing dirty Scrabble with definitions from the Urban Dictionary. Talking with Ryan was effortless, and when the check came, Joy found she wasn’t ready to leave. Ryan must have felt the same way, because he ordered two cups of coffee so they could keep the conversation going.
Eventually, they couldn’t handle any more caffeine, so they drove to the river and parked near the Belle’s docking station. There, they found a wooden bench and watched the Louisiana moon dance over the water while they talked for another two hours.
Ryan stretched his arm along the bench behind Joy’s back, but he never crowded her—something that impressed and disappointed her in equal measure. His mellow aftershave carried on the breeze, and she wouldn’t have minded leaning into him and resting her head on his shoulder.
He finally took her hand when he led her back to his truck, and again when they arrived at her building. His fingers were warm and strong laced among hers, and though Joy’s eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, she hated to let him go.
“It’s later than I thought,” Ryan said, checking his watch. “Can I walk you to your apartment? I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe inside.”
Joy wasn’t sure if he really meant that, or if it was a segue to sex. But the thought of inviting him in made her tummy flutter with excitement. “All right.”
They made their way up a few flights of stairs, and by the time they reached her door, Joy’s pulse was doing the fifty-yard dash. She wasn’t sure how to proceed. It had been an embarrassingly long time since she’d invited a man to stay for the night.
She gestured at her door, deciding to let him make the first move. “This is me . . .”
He held tightly to her hand, but didn’t lean in to kiss her. “Can I see you again? Tomorrow night, maybe?”
An automatic grin curved her lips. “I’d like that.”
“I’ll pick you up as soon as I close the shop.” Keeping their gazes locked, Ryan lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the inside of her palm. The act was deceptive in its innocence. His lips never left that spot, but Joy felt his touch in all kinds of delightful places. He held there for a few charged beats before releasing her hand and backing toward the stairwell. “Good night, Cupcake.”
His voice was low and sensual, sure to give her sweet dreams.
“Sleep tight,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Joy let herself inside, then sighed longingly and leaned back against the door. Eighteen hours and thirty-five minutes until she could be with him again. Not that she was counting, or anything.
Chapter 4
Ryan was beginning to worry that his constant clock-watching had caused time to go in reverse. There was no other explanation for how slowly the day had passed. He tried to stay busy, but after two of his appointments cancelled, he was left with nothing to do but imagine Joy’s sweet face reflected in every room of the shop—in the entryway where they’d shared cupcakes; on the chair where he’d laid her down and gently pierced her eyebrow; even on the wall, where a framed pin-up girl grinned provocatively down at him.
Just when he’d managed to get Joy out of his head for five minutes, one of Judge McMasterson’s campaign ads had come on the TV in the break room.
The public Joy—linked arm-in-arm with her parents, their smiles wide and wooden, their eyes devoid of emotion—bore little resemblance to the vibrant girl he’d taken to dinner last night. The private Joy was the one who had his heart pinging. She let down her walls, spoke her mind, and snorted when she laughed too hard.
Ryan recalled how she’d looked with tears leaking down her beet-red cheeks, and he caught himself smiling. She’d even sent back her wine for him—a gesture that was unnecessary, but said a lot about her character. Most of the women he’d dated could drink a naval fleet under the table, and none of them had refused a drink in his company.
But as he was quickly learning, Joy wasn’t just anyone.
Walking her home and leaving with nothing more than a gentlemanly kiss on the hand had cost him a good night’s sleep. He’d heard the unspoken invitation in her voice, enticing him to come inside and fulfill her pretzel-twisting fantasy. But he’d also detected a note of uncertainty, that Joy’s heart wasn’t ready, even if her body was. Sexual frustration aside, his instincts told him to take it slow. A relationship was building between them, and he wanted to protect it.
One thing was certain: when they made love, it would be worth the wait.
• • •
He reminded himself of that several hours later, when they were sitting on his sofa watching the most awesomely bad SyFy movie ever committed to film—Mansquito.
“Get out of there!” Joy cried at the television. “He’s going to suck you dry!” She tucked her socked feet beneath her and leaned into Ryan’s embrace. When the first actor fell victim to the mosquito man’s bloodlust, Joy hid her face in Ryan’s shoulder and wrapped both arms around his midsection.
He’d never been so grateful for a gruesome murder.
“Don’t look,” he whispered in her ear. “This is the worst part.” He drew her closer, savoring the fruity scent of her hair and the warmth of her skin. From across the room, characters screamed in agony, but their death cries fell to the periphery of Ryan’s mind. All he cared about was the way Joy’s soft curves pressed against his chest.
It would have been so easy to rotate her beneath him on the couch and take things to the next level, to taste her mouth and explore her lush body. He was certain she’d let him push that short cotton skirt around her waist and shuck her panties to the floor. Then he could tease her with his fingertips, unzip his jeans, and nudge inside her by torturously slow degrees until she bucked her hips and begged for more.
That’s what he wanted to do—what his fully alert body asked him to do—but Ryan gritted his teeth and tried to conjure up unsexy images, like the meaty shoulders of the biker he’d tattooed that morning. The trick worked, and at the end of the evening, he drove Joy home and left her with another kiss on the hand.
He did the same thing the next night after walking Joy home from a concert in the park. And again the following Saturday after they spent the afternoon at his favorite fishing hole. Each of their dates ended with Joy leading him to her door and using her eyes to welcome him inside. Walking away from her tested the boundaries of his patience, usually earning him another night of tossing and turning and waking up in sweaty sheets. He wasn’t used to waiting this long, but he’d never met a woman like Joy. He didn’t want to ruin it by rushing.
Ryan faltered during the fifth date, when he’d taken Joy out for a night of close dancing. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and ran her little hands all over his chest while brushing his fly with each sway of her hips. There weren’t enough unsexy images in the world to keep Ryan from getting a semi right there on the dance floor. God help him. If he held back for too much longer, he might actually die from th
e tension building in his gut.
Later they climbed the stairs to Joy’s apartment, and she told him, “I liked that band. When are they in town again?”
Ryan was so busy staring at her mouth that he nearly tripped over his own boots. “Next month, I think. Want me to get tickets?”
She smiled as her cheeks darkened, and Ryan wondered if they were both thinking the same thing—that it felt good to make plans together for that far in advance. “That would be great.”
When they reached her door, Joy squeezed their linked fingers and recited her usual line, “This is me . . .” and trailed off suggestively.
This time Ryan couldn’t back away.
He closed the distance between them and took Joy’s face between his hands, leaning down until nothing but a whisper of breath separated their lips. Gently, he stroked her cheek and savored the rush of anticipation until her eyelids fluttered shut and she rose onto her toes to meet him. Then he kissed her for the first time—in earnest, and definitely not on the hand.
The first sensation to hit him was the overwhelming softness of her mouth, followed by the flavor of her cherry gloss. He skimmed his tongue along the seam of her lips, and she opened to him with a whimper that set his blood boiling. Tilting her face to the side, he deepened the kiss and tasted her with slow, sensual strokes, doing to her mouth what he longed to do to her body. She locked both arms around his neck, melting against every inch of him, and when their tongues met, his tenuous control snapped in half.
Before he knew what he’d done, he pushed her against the door while he took her mouth with the fury of a week’s bottled-up desire. The noises Joy made drove him almost as wild as her wandering hands. She alternately fisted his T-shirt and clawed at his back as if to draw him inside her. Their shared desperation ratcheted the kiss from feathery to fierce in the span of two heartbeats, and before long, the need for oxygen forced them apart.
He tipped their foreheads together as they gasped for air, using a thumb to brush her swollen lips because he was unwilling to break contact. The drive to be near her was the most natural thing he’d ever felt. Every atom in his body begged him to join with her, to bury himself as deep as he could get. But even though he was hard enough to pound nails, a distant voice warned that it was still too soon.
It’s only been a week, he told himself. She’s special. Don’t screw it up.
Ryan groaned in frustration and flattened both palms against the door. He dipped his mouth to Joy’s ear and whispered, “Good night, Cupcake,” then ignored every raging instinct within him and pushed away.
Chapter 5
“Where were you last night?” When Joy didn’t answer quickly enough, her father heaved a sigh into the phone. “You could have at least called. Your mother was in hysterics by the beginning of cocktail hour.” Then he muttered, “Not so much by the end of cocktail hour, but that’s beside the point.”
“I sent her a text.” Joy put the phone on speaker so she could finish curling her lashes. “Didn’t she get it?”
“She can’t text,” Daddy said. “And you know that.”
It was true. Plus, Mom always refused to wear her reading glasses to social events, so she wouldn’t have seen the words. The real reason Joy hadn’t called was because she sucked at lying. It was safer to message, Sorry, can’t come to the fund-raiser. Have to work late.
“I’ll make the next one,” Joy said. “I promise.”
“Well, I would hope so.” Daddy’s voice darkened. “What kind of message does it send when my own daughter won’t come out to support me?”
A prickle of guilt tugged at Joy’s stomach. Maybe she shouldn’t have blown off the gala for her date with Ryan. But to attend, she would’ve had to remove her piercings and conceal the holes with makeup, which was a hassle. “I do support you, Daddy.”
He ignored her and changed the subject. “I need you to come to the house for dinner. The NRA lobbyist is bringing his nephew. Nice young man. You two should have a lot to talk about.”
Joy rolled her eyes while unscrewing her mascara. “I’m staying in tonight. I’ve got food poisoning.”
“What?” Daddy paused as if inspecting her through the phone. “You sound fine to me.”
“I’m talking to you from the bathroom,” Joy said, swiping on a coat of Great Lash. “Can’t you hear the echo?”
Daddy sounded repulsed when he chided, “Really, Joy. Take some Pepto-Bismol and get over here. Why is everything such a damn crisis with you?”
His criticism stung, but she let it roll off her back. “This is beyond medication, trust me. I’m spewing like a geyser, and the cramps are—”
“Never mind. I didn’t need to know that.” He disconnected, and she congratulated herself on escaping the noose.
Maybe she wasn’t such a bad liar after all.
In truth, Ryan was picking her up for dinner at a small winery on the outskirts of the parish, and she wouldn’t miss it for the world. She craved his company like a drug.
Their talks had grown longer each night, the conversation effortless because they never ran out of things to say. Whenever something funny happened during the workday, Joy’s first instinct was to share it with Ryan. It was amazing how quickly their relationship had blossomed.
But his company wasn’t the only thing she craved.
She longed to peel off his clothes and explore him all over, starting with the viper tattoo that had taunted her for weeks. She’d snuck a peek down the front of his shirt when they were cuddled on his sofa, and had noticed the vibrant green snake winding a path across Ryan’s muscular chest. She wanted to follow that trail from beginning to end—with her tongue—and discover what else he was hiding.
Oh, the things she would do to him . . .
He dominated her thoughts, even at work. Every time she contorted one of her clients in a therapeutic stretch, she imagined her legs wrapped around Ryan’s neck. No doubt making love with him would be spectacular. Her whole body had hummed alive the first time he’d kissed her, and anyone who used his mouth like that knew what he was doing in the bedroom.
The clincher was a conversation they’d had yesterday when she’d visited him for another hoop. He’d worn a few of his metal studs that afternoon, including one in his tongue. When she’d asked why he’d pierced it, Ryan had winked and said, If you’re nice to me, maybe I’ll show you.
She’d been extra nice, but all Ryan had given her was a kiss. Not that there was anything wrong with that—their kisses had grown hotter with each date—but she wanted him.
All of him.
Joy caught herself flushing, and she fanned her cheeks with a nearby Cosmo. If she didn’t get her mind out of the gutter, she’d sweat off all her makeup. She applied a thin coat of lip gloss and slipped on a pair of strappy sandals, then grabbed her bag and met Ryan on the sidewalk.
“Wow.” His eyes glazed over and darted to her legs, exposed beneath the short hem of a cotton mini dress. “You look . . . wow.”
Joy turned in a circle for him. “Thanks. You look pretty wow yourself.” He’d dressed for the occasion in black slacks and a grey button-down shirt that hugged his broad shoulders. The effect was striking.
He opened the passenger door for her, and an hour later they were seated at a candlelit table enjoying a bottle of alcohol-free sparkling cider.
Ryan raised his glass. “What should we toast to?”
A few possibilities came to mind—fresh beginnings, new relationships, hot pretzel sex. But Joy suggested, “To cupcakes.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
During dinner they sat side-by-side with their legs touching, each one resting a hand on the other’s knee. She noticed Ryan’s gaze dipping several times to her thighs, and he seemed to have a hard time swallowing his food. Joy understood. She was so acutely aware of his body that she couldn’t taste her pasta. A fog of sexual tensi
on hung so thickly between them it choked their conversation.
That’s when Joy knew she had to do something.
“You know,” she began, “we should go back to my place. I, uh . . . think I left the oven on.” It was the weakest lie ever told, but hopefully that wouldn’t matter.
Ryan paused for a moment. A flicker of amusement danced in his gaze when he answered. “That could be dangerous. We need to check it out right away.”
“Uh-huh,” Joy said. “I’d hate to start a fire.”
The way Ryan looked at her guaranteed they’d start a five-alarm blaze of their own. He lifted a hand to flag down the server. “Check, please!”
• • •
After setting a new land-speed record to reach Joy’s apartment, they stumbled inside locked at the lips, kicking off shoes and tearing at one another’s clothes while inching toward the sofa, because the bedroom was just too far away.
Joy deftly unbuttoned Ryan’s shirt, but she lost her patience near the bottom and ripped apart the panels. He didn’t seem to mind. He was too busy shoving her sleeves down over her shoulders. As soon as her dress hit the floor, his shirt followed, and Joy pulled back to gaze at him. She’d waited a long time for this, and the payoff was worth every second.
He was spectacular.
The streetlight’s gentle glow streamed through the open window, illuminating the hard contours of his chest. The green viper she’d come to adore sank its fangs into the thick column of Ryan’s neck and wound across his lean torso, disappearing below the waistband of his pants. Eager to see the rest of it, she reached out to unfasten his belt buckle.
“Wait,” he said, stilling her hand. “It’s my turn to look.”
He unclasped her bra, baring her breasts before capturing one in his rough palm. He watched in wonder as he used a thumb to stroke her nipple, bringing it to a hard point and coaxing a sigh from her lips.
“You’re beautiful, Joy,” he murmured. Then he bent down and drew her into his mouth, and she felt the wet tug at the juncture of her thighs.
Make You Blush Page 3
