by Zoe York
Damn it. "Okay, I need to get back to work. I just wanted to deliver these muffins. Be warned, the ones that look like chocolate chips are actually raisins.”
“I like raisins,” Jack said solemnly, so she gave him a high five.
She patted Gavin on the shoulder as he gave her a thumbs up, and waved at Maya. Ryan just watched her, and she got it—he wasn't available. But it hurt a little, knowing they had this chemistry between them and they’d never get to explore it. He’s right. I shouldn’t always get what I want. It’s made me spoiled.
On the porch, she stopped for a second and took a deep breath, then jogged down the stairs, but she didn't get far before the door opened behind her.
"Wait." Ryan's voice was low and oh so sweet to her ears. "I want to hear the answer to that question."
She turned, taking in a nice, slow look at him. His broad shoulders were hunched up and his strong hands were clenched at his sides. He looked nervous, so nervous, and she wanted to make sure he really wanted to hear her answer first.
"If I like Daddy's prickles?" Another stab of desire pulsed inside her, and for a second she wasn't sure he’d actually have this conversation with her—or any conversation—but then he slowly stepped down the stairs toward her. His long, muscled legs quickly ate up the ground between them. “Seriously? What good comes of us talking about that?”
“Okay, I probably deserve that.” He stopped a few feet away from her and crossed his arms, then shoved his hands in his pockets, like he couldn’t figure out what to do with them.
Touch me, you idiot.
His gazed locked on hers and his voice, when he spoke, rasped out of him in a whisper. “Look…I’m sorry. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
“I might have been too hasty in pushing you away. I was hurt and I reacted harshly.”
And that was why she hadn’t been able to bring herself to seek him out and apologize sooner. “Twice. You pushed me away…twice.”
“Okay, I may have been hasty and wrong…twice.”
Hot, achey relief flooded through her body. “Just like that?”
Smiling, he nodded once, then twice more in fast succession. “Apparently so. I mean, not just like that. I’ve been thinking a lot about you, and me. We both could have done things differently. But I’m sorry, Holly. I’m unbelievably sorry that I hurt you.”
She returned the smile, enjoying the tug between them and how her smile seemed to deepen his. “If you wanted any more muffins...I could bring some up later tonight."
Emotion clouded his face. He glanced back at the house.
“Hey, it’s okay.” She ignored the stab of pain in her gut. She needed to be the bigger person here. She pasted on a smile. “No expectations. No kissing. I just miss sitting on the porch with you. I really meant I’d bring you some muffins, it wasn’t a euphemism for something dirty.”
He frowned. “I’m not very good at this, but I wasn’t saying I don’t want something dirty…”
She laughed as he trailed off and turned red. “Wow.”
“Um…”
“Maybe we should stick with being friends. And it’ll just be our secret, I promise.” Because she was leaving in six weeks. Because they came from separate worlds and what they’d had was fragile and temporary at best, imaginary and made of dust at worst. But what they might have again…that would have to be sensible. Realistic. And not dirty at all.
“I don’t know about just being friends. But I do think we need a do-over.” He shoved his shirt sleeves up to his elbows. He looked rumpled, over-sized, and irresistible. He shoved a big hand into the space between them. “Hi. I’m Ryan Howard. I live here. I’m the caretaker of the cottages.”
She took his hand and shook it. “I’m Holly. You might know me better as Hope Creswell, but my real friends call me Holly.”
“You’ve got a lot of those?”
“Nope.”
“I know the feeling.”
Heart hammering in her chest, she took a deep breath and confessed. “I wrote you an apology note. Like the one you wrote me.”
Slow as molasses, he arched his eyebrows and gave her an appraising nod, his gaze never leaving her face. “Is that right?”
“It got a bit wordy. That’s why I haven’t given it to you yet.”
“How wordy?”
“Ten pages.”
He started laughing and she joined him. “That’s a lot of saying you’re sorry.”
“Most of it was other stuff.” God, that felt good to say. “I started rambling about my mother and work…”
He nodded as she talked, and when she trailed, off, he filled in the gap. “Stuff you weren’t sure you could tell me?”
She swallowed and nodded. “We spent weeks making sure we were still strangers and I regret that so much. I don’t know you that well. I want to…but the basic facts haven’t changed.”
“You’re leaving.”
Six weeks. “I want to say something here about jet planes and flexible schedules, but…I’m scared.” God, it felt good to admit that. “You’re a special guy, Ryan Howard.”
“Hardly,” he muttered, but he was still looking at her.
“You’re special because you do something that nobody else does. You tell me no.”
“And you’d rather I be a yes-man?” he asked quietly.
“No. But knowing that I’m optional in your life…that’s scary.”
“You’re not optional.” He shook his head slowly, his voice raw and rough and perfect. “I don’t know how you’ll fit…as a friend or more, I don’t know. But pushing you away hurt me as much as it hurt you. I’m sorry.”
She licked her lips, all fumbling nerves now. “Do you think you might be able to tell me why you did? Not now, but soon?”
A slow nod was all the answer she needed as her phone vibrated. “Duty calls,” she whispered as she waved her hand in the air.
“See you soon,” he rumbled, his gaze locked on her mouth.
— TWELVE —
RYAN’S hand shook as he started an email to Holly later that night.
If you aren’t too tired, I can put on a pot of chamomile tea.
She knocked on his door ten minutes later. Her hair was damp and piled loosely on her head, her face scrubbed clean. She was wearing black running tights and an oversized hoodie.
“What are you smiling at?” she asked as he gestured for her to come inside.
“You look like you again,” he said roughly. “Earlier today…the make up and the clothes. They weren’t you.”
“Yeah, I was in character. I should have shown your kids the wheelchair.”
“Wheelchair?”
She tipped her head to the side. “My character’s a paraplegic…wow, there’s a lot we haven’t talked about, isn’t there?”
“I guess so.” He pointed at the kettle. “Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
When he turned around again, she was still standing.
“You can sit, you know.”
“Um, shouldn’t we go outside?”
He pointed to the baby monitor on the counter. “It’s okay. I closed the kids’ bedroom door.” So we can talk in private was the unsaid promise, but talking was the last thing on his mind. He wanted to haul her hard against him and kiss her, over and over again. Slide his hands under that sweatshirt and explore every inch of her body. But she wanted to talk—and she was right, it was surprising how little they knew about each other.
“Do they all sleep together?” she asked as she curled onto one of his kitchen chairs.
“Yeah. For a while we were all sleeping in my room, but now—for the most part—Maya’s in with Gavin and Jack. They have two twin beds in their room, she curls up with Gavin. And her room is where we pile all the laundry.”
Her face crinkled as she laughed. “I love that.”
“They sometimes fight like cats and dogs, but bedtime…they love to cuddle up.” He watched as her laughter faded into a wistful expre
ssion. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Nope.” She held her breath for a minute, then laughed nervously. “My mother didn’t even want me. Once I was born, she was vigilant about birth control until she could convince a doctor to tie her tubes.”
Ryan set the teapot he was prepping on the table and dropped into the chair beside hers. “Seriously?”
She lifted one shoulder and pulled her knee up in front of her body. “I know, it’s awful. I did a fair bit of therapy to deal with it in my early twenties.”
He wrinkled his nose at the T-word.
“You’re not a fan of talking about stuff, are you?”
“Nah. I just want to get better and move on, ya know?”
“Easier said than done.”
“Yep. Turns out that’s true.” He shoved his hand through his hair.
She gave him a small smile. “You need a hair cut.”
He laughed. “I need a lot of things.”
She cocked one eyebrow. “Tell me what else you need.”
Heat sizzled as, just like that, they slid from emotional conversation to innuendo and promise.
“Okay, I’ll get a hair cut.” Swallowing hard, he tipped back in his chair.
Her gaze heavy with barely restrained teasing, she nodded slowly as she dragged her lower lip between her teeth. Wet and shiny, the plump flesh begged to be kissed. Like his hair begged to be cut by her.
But they needed to take this slow.
“Tell me more about your mother.”
Grinning, she shook her head. “Do you have clippers?”
“No.”
“Really? You don’t cut the boys’ hair?”
Against his will, his mouth curved into a sloppy smile. “Yes, I have clippers. No, you can’t cut my hair.”
“Don’t put off to tomorrow what you can do today.”
“Fine. I’ll cut my hair after you leave.”
“I don’t need to leave.” Her gaze was steely, and part of him recognized she was talking about a lot more than a hair cut and tonight.
He didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t want her to go, but she was a movie star who lived in Los Angeles and he was a single dad with three young kids that needed to be kept out of the spotlight. She had to leave, as much as it would kill him.
“Yes, you do.”
She shook her head. “Late call tomorrow, actually. But in general, I mean. I was thinking…” she trailed off, biting that lower lip again.
“I can’t think about the future, Holly.”
“I know.” She shook her head. “For now, let’s just focus on tonight. I don’t have to leave tonight. I’ve got time to stay and talk, and cut your hair…and anything else. I’m all yours.”
A million thoughts spilled between them as her eyes darkened with desire, but also something else—she wanted to do this. Cut his hair. Start something between them. That stirred a lot of previously smothered feelings deep inside him.
He didn’t want her to go. He sank into that knowledge. It felt good to admit that to himself.
“You want to cut my hair?”
With a jerky nod, she leaned forward, stroking her fingertips down his temple. “Nobody lets me do stuff like that.”
He grabbed her wrist, holding her hand against his cheek. Taking a ragged breath, he fought back the impulse to pull her into his lap and kiss her until she forgot all about his stupid hair. “Who else do you want to give a haircut to?”
“No one,” she breathed. “Just you, I promise.”
Good enough for him. “Wait here.”
She grinned, a big, silly, happy smile as he shoved her back in her chair before sprinting upstairs. He grabbed the clippers, a towel, and after staring at the cupboard for ten agonizing seconds, a condom. Just in case.
Dirty bastard.
Yeah, maybe he was.
— —
Every cell in Holly’s body hummed with anticipation. You only wanted to talk, said the angel on one shoulder. Talking is overrated, chimed the devil. The classic conflict.
But when Ryan re-appeared, his eyes were bright with desire. He stumbled over his words, telling her about the supplies he’d brought downstairs, and moved around the kitchen, closing the blinds on every window. Not really a conflict at all.
If anything, they’d both proven they were capable of restraint.
Too much restraint.
It was time to shuck the idea of what they should do…and just be.
“Where do you want me?” he asked.
“Here.” She patted the chair he’d been sitting in. “And take off your shirt.”
He froze, and gave her a look of concern that was beyond adorable.
“What?” She moved closer, taking the clippers and towel from his hands. The simple touch of her fingers grazing his was enough to light the room on fire.
He swallowed hard. “This is going to sound stupid, because I’m not normally a vain guy, but I haven’t done a sit-up in like…six months.”
“So?” She set the supplies on the table and reached for the hem of his shirt. He didn’t stop her, so she slid her palms under the fabric, touching the hot, warm skin of his abdomen. Her breath hitched as she absorbed his warmth and explored his body. He was big all over. Thick, muscled core, flaring broader up to his chest. No hair on his sides, but as her palms skimmed his body beneath his shirt, both of them breathing hard now, she found a vee of fur covering the centre of his chest, and she followed that line of hair down his midline to his tensing abs—maybe not six-pack defined, but strong and capable and panty-wetting all the same.
“Do you know how hard it was for me to avoid touching your nipples, there?” she asked, pressing onto her toes. She hooked her fingers into his belt and tugged his erection into the cradle of her pelvis. “Take off your shirt, Ryan. I want to sit on your lap and cut your hair.”
“In that case,” he said thickly before whipping his shirt off, giving her a first glimpse at his massive shoulders and chest. “You should take yours off as well.”
Before he finished talking, she was wriggling her sweatshirt over her head, and as soon as she was free, his hands were on her, exploring her torso like she’d mapped his. Holding perfectly still, she felt the trail of goosebumps that followed his rough, calloused fingers as he teased the thin, criss-crossing straps of her sports bra. When he tried to tug one side over her shoulder, the many skinny straps in the back stopping him, he cursed and spun her around, pulling her hard against his front.
“What kind of devil bra is this?” He nipped at her neck and she sighed, stretching her head to the side. Offering herself to him.
“The kind that keeps us focused on a hair cut.” Although she really liked his curls. They stood on end when he shoved his hands through them and felt like silk against her fingertips.
“I have scissors. I could cut it off.”
She laughed and spun in his arms. “Sit down.”
“Will you kiss me?”
“Over and over again, I promise.”
Without letting go of her hips, he settled himself on the chair again, and she straddled his lap. In her tight spandex pants, she could feel every inch of how much he wanted her, and she rolled her hips, nestling his cock right at the apex of her heat. “Come here,” she whispered, pulling his face to hers.
This kiss wasn’t like the ones on the deck outside the lake house.
This wasn’t just a kiss. This was heated foreplay and hunger let loose. She took her time, and he let her, but his hands were all over her back and her butt, and beneath her his entire body had turned to granite.
Her mountain man, in every sense of the word.
She pressed his lips open with hers, filled his mouth with her tongue. Slow, seductive strokes. Wet, teasing tastes. Breaths in and out, his air becoming hers and vice versa. All of it quieter than quiet and hotter than hot.
“How short do you want it?” she breathed after a time, as she kissed her way to his ear. She nosed at the yummy spot beneath hi
s jaw, wanting to roll around in the perfection of his warm, tight skin.
“What?”
“Your hair.”
“That wasn’t a ruse for you to get in my pants?”
“Nope.” She pushed back, bracing her hands on his shoulders. “I really want to cut your hair.”
He blinked at her, his face blank with confusion, and she giggled.
“You kiss me like a porn star and then take a break to cut my damn hair?” Pressing his fingers into the small of her back, he urged her closer, and she almost went. Her lips were still wet from his tongue and her mouth was already lonely.
But she had a task, and she really wanted to get it done.
“And just how do you know how a porn star kisses?” She mock frowned at him.
“We have the Internet.”
“For that, I’m going to take my time.”
“I take it back. I’m an altar boy. You’re an angel. Come back here with those angelic lips…”
She slipped off his lap, keeping her hands on his bare torso as she swayed around his body. “You look like a ruffian.”
“Okay, let’s go with that. I’m a bad boy.” He reached his long arms behind him and possessively gripped the backs of her thighs, pinning her against the chair. “I’d like to corrupt you, come back to my lap.”
“You’re a reputable community member and a father and a member of the military. You need a haircut.”
— —
Ryan knew she was teasing and he thought he liked it. It was hard to tell, though, because his hormones were rampaging hard. “Are you doing this to take things slow?”
“Nope, although that’s probably a good idea.”
He was shooting himself in the foot all over the place. Well, no surprise there—this was the first time he’d needed to put the moves on someone in fifteen years. He was more than rusty. “Okay. I like the number two clippers around the side, and four on top.”
He watched her studiously inspect the hair clipper and the comb attachments, then plug it in and approach him cautiously.
