Crap. He wasn’t going to let that go easily. “What are you going to—”
“Patience.” Ryan hit the stairs to his bedroom two at a time.
What was he up to?
She turned to ask Sherlock his thoughts, but with no more prospects for a treat, he’d crawled under the coffee table and fallen sound asleep. She smiled as she watched his little furry chest rise and fall in slumber.
Who knew how much a person could love a pet? Thankfully, he’d be in good hands with Eric if she had to leave.
Ryan’s voice drifted down from the second floor. “Okay. You can come up now.”
She rose slowly from the couch, not wanting to wake Sherlock. Resisting the urge to run, she tiptoed her way up the stairs. When she rounded the corner to Ryan’s bedroom, she pulled up short.
Soft light danced off the walls and ceiling, shadowing the hard planes of Ryan’s sexy face. He’d scattered the candles from the wedding and a few more about the room.
For her.
She’d just gotten all gooey about Sherlock. Now the candles made her heart melt the rest of the way. Who would care for Ryan if she had to go?
“Thank you, Ryan. This is beautiful.”
“You’re welcome.” He crossed the room and scooped her off her feet. Then he gently laid her on his bed before covering her body with his. He brushed a piece of fallen hair from her forehead and said, “I promised we’d go slower this time, so I hope your mother bought long-lasting candles.”
Tara stared into his eyes, pushing her sad thoughts away, regaining focus on the moment. She’d looked forward to being with him again all day. “The caterers guaranteed six hours. They were only used for about three . . .”
“Challenge accepted.” He laid a gentle kiss on her lips.
“Mmmm, I think I’m glad we fueled up on sundaes first, then. But about my scars—”
He cut her off with another kiss while his hands got busy removing her shirt.
There’d be no hiding her scars without that.
Determined to get past the first awkward part, she lifted Ryan’s T-shirt above his head. His hard chest and sculpted abs banished all thoughts of her scars.
The man was built. The shadows cast by the candlelight only served to deepen the contrast in his fine form. She admired his muscles as she unbuttoned his pants and then slid the zipper down. “A little help with the jeans here, please.”
Ryan had somehow already gotten her stripped down to only her panties. The man worked fast for someone trying to take things slow. After he stood and got naked, he slowly slid her last article of clothing down her legs, laying kisses on her inner thighs along the way.
When his mouth headed north, she squeezed her eyes shut and grabbed the bedspread with her fists. She didn’t want to see his reaction when he got to the uneven skin on her stomach.
He steadily kissed his way up her torso, no hesitation whatsoever at her marred skin. When he reached her ribcage, she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Maybe the scars didn’t look as bad in the candlelight?
The sweet sensations as he kneaded and suckled her breasts drove her crazy with the need to explore his body too. Releasing her tight grip on the bedding, she ran her hands down the hard ridges of his back, marveling at the soft skin covering hard steel beneath it.
By the time his mouth finally made it all the way to her earlobe, her body hummed with need, begging for release. Going slow had been a fine idea in theory but he was driving her nuts.
He whispered, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever been with, Tara. Scars and all.”
“There’re worse ones on my back . . .”
“We’ll get to those next time. I’m a little busy admiring this side now.”
Unable to take much more, she said, “My turn to admire. Switch places.”
“Gladly.” He rolled onto his back and slid his hands behind his head. “All yours.”
All six and a half feet of the most delicious man she’d ever laid eyes on. Staring at his perfect body made her hands ache to explore.
She straddled his waist, then ran her palms down his chest. Ryan was every woman’s dream. Muscles in all the right places, big, strong shoulders and arms, tight abs, long, sinewy legs—built just right for pleasing a woman.
The smug grin on his face as he watched her check out his body only made her want him more. Maybe she’d help make that happen a little sooner.
When she took his hard length in her hand and began to stroke, he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He gripped her waist with both hands as his hips begged for a faster pace.
Ryan quickly flipped their positions, making her yelp in surprise. Then he kissed her deeply before he reached for a condom.
Thank God.
He stared intently into her eyes as he slowly slipped inside her. That same hot desire quickly welled up inside of her, and much like the last time they’d been together, her heart warmed right along with it. She ran her hands through his thick hair and pulled his mouth to hers, letting that overpowering feeling of connection with him overtake her once again as his strokes became faster and harder.
She let her hands wander over the muscles in his back, as her own arched in sheer pleasure. Just as he tenderly whispered, “God, Tara,” her body convulsed around his.
He drove home one last long thrust that made her gasp his name before she took the headlong dive off the edge.
Ryan followed right behind.
He fell onto his back beside her, his chest heaving. “Five minutes and we’ll start on the other side.”
“’Kay.” She turned and snuggled her face into the crook of his neck, drawing a deep breath. She loved the way he smelled. Clean and simple. No fancy cologne for him, which suited her just fine.
When he ran his hand up and down her back in a long, slow pattern, she shivered in delight. Her sister was right, those rough hands were magical.
He whispered, “Would you consider staying here with me? At least until we know what happens with Spencer?”
That sounded awful nice. But she’d never be able to stay detached if she did that.
She laid her palm on the side of his face and tilted it her way. “Thank you for worrying about me, Ryan. But I’m fine. You’re just a phone call and a minute and a half away.” She laid a quick kiss on his cheek. “Your five-minute rest period is up, pal. Let’s get a move on.”
“Tara, I think we should talk about—”
“And I think those candles are going to win the challenge if you don’t get busy ravishing me again.”
He grunted. “You can avoid a conversation better than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Thank you. Now please proceed.”
He rolled on top of her. “We’re going to talk about this, and about digging for the recipe, in the morning.”
She wrapped her arms around him and gave him a hug. “Fine.” She’d like nothing better than to stay with him longer than just the night, and feel as safe as she did at that moment. But she didn’t want him to think that she’d ever be able to give him what he wanted so badly—a wife and kids.
She couldn’t break Ryan’s heart like Sarah had. She cared about him way too much for that. But things weren’t going at all as she’d planned.
Snuggling closer, she sighed. Maybe she’d pull a Scarlett O’Hara and worry about it in the morning.
A warm tongue wet Ryan’s cheek, waking him from a deep sleep. He reluctantly blinked his eyes open. Sherlock. He must need to go out.
The sun reflecting off the walls was too bright . . .
Crap. They’d overslept.
He grabbed his watch from the nightstand and winced. “Tara, wake up.”
Nestled at his side, she shook her head. “Ten more minutes.”
“It’s seven fifteen.”
Tara’s eyes flew open and she leapt out of bed—naked and the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. The scars weren’t off-putting at all. Instead they served as a reminder of how courageous she was.
He plopped his pillow up on the headboard and enjoyed watching her scramble around the room in a mad search for her clothes.
She swiveled her head back and forth. “I have a packed schedule today. I can’t believe I didn’t think to set my phone. Where’s my shirt?”
“On the chair. In the corner.”
“Thanks.” She scooped up her shirt, ran to the bathroom, and turned on the shower.
Sherlock let out an impatient whine, so Ryan swung his feet to the floor and pulled on his jeans. “You want to go—”
Sherlock was out the door in a flash. He moved as fast as Tara when he had a mind to.
After Sherlock was done with his business outside, Ryan grabbed two bagels and put them in the toaster. Just as they popped up, Tara hurried down the steps, her hair still wet. “Sorry to run out like this.” She grabbed her huge purse from the countertop and then leaned down to leash up Sherlock.
Ryan spread cream cheese on a bagel and held it out. “Here. You need to eat.”
“Thanks. I’m starving!”
She smiled so sweetly at him as she took her first bite, his heart clenched. “So will I see you tonight?”
Her bagel paused halfway to her lips. “Actually, I have plans with another guy tonight.”
“Another guy?” What the hell?
She laid her bagel down and then slipped her arms around his waist. “Eric and I have . . . stuff to do.”
Instant relief shot through him. “Stuff you don’t want me to catch you two doing?”
She kissed him. “Yep.”
“Will there be digging involved?”
“Hopefully.”
“Text me and I’ll help. It’d be the best way to put an end to all of this once and for all.”
“Really?”
He nodded as he stuffed his bagel in his mouth and headed for the stairs. He didn’t want to be late either.
Tara called out from below, “You’re the best bene-friend a girl could ask for. You even do manual labor. See you later.”
After the front door slammed closed, he huffed out a breath and stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
Bene-friend? He needed to figure out how to move past that. Maybe if he practiced saying the words out loud? “Tara, I lo . . .”
He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, recalling how her gaze softened so sweetly every time he made love to her. It did something to his insides when she looked at him that way. “Tara. I . . . love you.”
There. He’d said it.
Popping his eyes open, he smiled like an idiot at himself in the mirror. “Bene-friend, my ass!”
At four forty-five Tara flopped into her office chair and picked up her cell. It had been a long, satisfying Monday. And Missy had been on her best behavior, so she’d let her go home before five.
She dialed Detective Bailey’s number. It went to voice mail. “Hi, it’s Tara. Just checking in and hoping for some good news. Call me when you get a chance, please.” She hit “End” and leaned back in her chair. Maybe things would work out after all. Still, she needed to get a move on and help Eric find that buried box just in case.
She was still in shock that Ryan wanted to help. She’d never want to cause him any more trouble with his father, but if they got caught, maybe he could tell his dad he was just trying to put an end to it all like the mayor wanted.
She tapped out a text to Ryan. My date is coming over at six thirty. If you’d like to compete for my favor you could show up too. You’d probably be a shoo-in if you brought dinner. And a couple of shovels. I don’t have any.
She smiled as she thought about how he’d outlasted the three hours left on the candles last night. Gotta give a guy points for that.
Her phone dinged with a response. No thanks. Don’t feel like cooking tonight.
What?
She stared at her phone. Maybe running out on him so quickly earlier had made him angry? She started to tap out an apology when her phone dinged again. I might be persuaded to join you for dinner and bring shovels too if you figure out how to make me and Eric some spaghetti.
She laughed.
Blackmail. But how hard could it be? Fine. See you at six thirty. Bring dessert!
His text flashed on her screen. You got it. Can’t wait to see this.
Well, she’d just show him, then.
Tara found her purse and keys, then locked her office door behind her. She needed to stop at the store on the way home and pick up what she’d need. But what exactly did she need? She pulled her phone out to Google it, but then realized Ryan’s grandmother’s house was only a little ways in the opposite direction. She’d surely know how to make a spaghetti meal Ryan would like.
Tara made her way down the long drive toward the lake. Mrs. Anderson knelt in her garden, wearing a big, floppy hat and gloves, filling a basket with fresh vegetables.
“Hi, Mrs. Anderson. How are you?”
The old woman glanced her way and smiled. “Well, hello, Tara. Heard you and Ryan have finally done the deed.”
Oh. Dear. God!
“You’ve been talking to Meg and Casey, I take it?”
“Yep.” Mrs. Anderson laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen quite that shade of red that’s running up your neck, Tara. You need to sit or something?”
Resigned, Tara plastered on a smile. “Nope. What I need is to know how to make Ryan’s favorite spaghetti dinner by six thirty tonight.”
“That so?” Mrs. Anderson beamed a sly smile. “Well, it’s lucky I was just out here gathering up fresh tomatoes, then. Normally I’d rather the sauce stew longer, but I have a fast version too. Come on in. We’re going to have to hurry.”
Pleasing Ryan in the kitchen won out over embarrassment. “Thanks, Mrs. Anderson. I appreciate it.”
“Well, you’ve already given the milk away for free. I might as well give you a hand so he’ll see what else he’ll miss if he lets you get away.”
Tara shook her head and followed behind. “Ryan and I have a deal, remember? By mutual consent, milk’s the only thing on the table. And if you don’t promise to cut out the nosy questions I’ll have to thank you for your trouble, but then figure it out on my own.”
Ryan’s grandmother stopped and cocked a brow. “Bossy lady for someone asking a favor, aren’t ya?”
“Takes one to know one.” Tara crossed her arms and lifted her chin, doing her best not to quake in her shoes. Ryan’s grandmother fascinated her as much as she scared her.
“True.” Mrs. Anderson smiled and then tilted her head in a “come-hither” gesture. “But the joke’s still on you, Tara. Because the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
Tara blinked as she processed that statement. She was making a mistake by cooking for Ryan? She needed to keep things easy and light. “You know what? I think maybe I’ll just take a rain—”
“Chicken.” Mrs. Anderson turned and walked through her back door, letting it slap closed behind her.
Tara stood in the yard staring at the screen door.
Chicken?
She wasn’t a chicken. She’d been to hell and back but was still standing.
The screen door creaked open and Mrs. Anderson called out, “Coming in or not? I’m getting older by the second here.”
Tara threw her shoulders back. “Be right there!”
The heart and stomach thing was probably just an old wives’ tale anyway.
She hoped.
Tara slid steaming plates of spaghetti in front of Ryan and Eric, then passed the bread and salad. The aroma of garlic and tomato mingling in the air made her realize how hungry she was.
&n
bsp; Ryan’s brow crumpled. “My grandmother’s cheesy French bread? How did you—”
“I stopped by her house on my way home today. You said I should figure this out, so I asked an expert.”
Eric bit into the warm bread and his eyes lit up. “Wow! This is really good, Tara!”
“Thank you, Eric.” She turned to Ryan, who was still scowling at the bread.
He said, “You made this? All on your own?”
“Yep. Ruth—that’s what she told me to call her from now on—said it was going to drive you nuts that I know what the secret topping is but you don’t.”
“I can’t believe she told you. I’ve been asking her for years.” He took a bite and closed his eyes. “This is incredible, Tara. What is it?”
“Nope. My lips are sealed.”
Seeing how much Ryan enjoyed the bread filled her with more pride than even the day she graduated from dental school. It was just plain silly how much she’d hoped he’d like her meal. How much she loved to see him happy.
She needed to get a grip. She couldn’t allow herself the feelings she had for Ryan. She was already in way deeper than she’d ever planned to be. She couldn’t even think about how much she’d miss Ryan if she had to leave.
She took a break from eating and said, “Eric and I have identified the two best potential dig sites. One is on your grandmother’s land. The other is behind the T-shirt shop, which after doing some sleuthing and slogging through a ton of material from the library, we figured out used to be the old stagecoach stop. We found a picture of people standing under the shelter as they waited for the coaches to arrive. Now it’s the covered and enclosed area where the Dumpster is.”
When Ryan reappeared from the kitchen with seconds, she smiled. She couldn’t wait to tell his grandmother how much he’d liked the meal in the morning.
Ryan said, “Is the place on my grandma’s land a stand of trees in a diamond pattern surrounding one big tree in the middle?”
“Uh-huh,” Eric said with his mouth full.
“I caught Pete digging there. Seems like a good spot, but I like the T-shirt shop. I re-read the clue. Makes sense that wherever the box is buried might be somewhere that used to provide shade and shelter. My uncle really didn’t want that whiskey recipe to be found. He’d make it difficult. Probably nothing obvious.”
It Had to Be Love (An It Had to Be Novel) Page 19
