Nick got in behind the steering wheel and started the engine.
He drove the entire way to Elmwood in silence. Ryanne didn’t attempt to say anything, either, because she didn’t know what to say. What could be said? The feelings tumbling inside her were a confusing mixture of embarrassment, hurt and anger. She’d never come so close to doing something so spontaneous and purely hormone driven, and the fact that Nick had been the one to reconsider—again—irked her no end.
Nick steered her car into the drive and carefully pulled into the garage, then switched off the engine. He removed the keys and held them out to her.
Ryanne took them and got out, automatically locking the car doors.
She headed for the house while Nick closed up the garage and fastened the padlock.
“Are you ever going to talk to me?” he called softly from behind her.
“I don’t think so.”
“What are you mad about?”
“I’m not mad.”
“What then?”
“Never mind.” She opened the back door.
He stepped right up behind her. “Are we on for the rest of the week?” he asked.
“That’s probably not a good idea,” she replied. She turned on the kitchen light and got a glass from the cupboard. From the pitcher in the refrigerator, she poured herself lemonade and drank it.
He was studying her, but she refused to meet his eyes. “If you want something, help yourself,” she said.
Nick watched her guardedly. He wanted something, all right. He shouldn’t have hesitated. Her frustration pleased him in a purely male way. “Not going to play anymore because you’re mad at me?” he teased.
“Shut up, Nick.”
“If I have a memory lapse, will you play with me again?”
She set her glass on the counter with a clank. “Shut up, Nick.”
“Or what? You’ll stop sharing your toys with me?”
“Or I’ll wipe that smirk off your face.”
“I’m shakin’,” he replied.
She reached behind her and grabbed the glass, and before he had time to react, she tossed the remainder of the lemonade at him.
Chapter Eight
The cold liquid hit his chest. Not much had been left in the glass, but enough to soak through his shirt in a good-size blotch.
Her eyes widened with surprise at what she’d done. She studied him with growing trepidation on her flushed face.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be.” He took three long strides, opened the freezer door and jimmied several ice cubes from the plastic bag where she’d stored them.
Ryanne squealed and ran out the back door before he turned around. He gave chase, the door slamming behind him. He studied the back of the house, listened and heard her footsteps moving around the side. The dark slowed him down, kept him from gaining on her, though he knew she was just ahead. His shoes pounded across the pavement of the front walk, then were muffled by grass again as he ran on. When she passed the dining room windows, the light from inside illuminated her perfectly, and he caught her playful, determined expression as she glanced over her shoulder.
The ice was freezing his fingers and had begun to drip through them.
Ryanne shot up the back steps, but he was right behind her. This was a game they’d played hundreds of times in the past. She would try to slam the door now and he’d push it open. The scenario played out just as he anticipated.
Once he got the door wedged open, she was shooting toward the dining room, those luscious legs revealed in the long side split of her filmy skirt. She would head straight for the front door to escape back outdoors.
Behind her, he slipped on a throw rug and hit his shoulder on a doorjamb before catching his balance and gaining on her. Always before when they’d played this game, she’d been taller, longer-legged, and had escaped. But this time his legs were the longer ones, and he caught up to her as she tried to yank open the front door.
Flattening a palm against the wood panel, he trapped her in the prison formed by his body.
Completely surprised, she spun around, her breath coming in pants, and flattened her back against the door.
Her eyes were wide, revealing her perplexity. A pulse beat at the base of her throat and her feminine scent rose up to envelope him in the hot humid foyer. She lowered her gaze to his lips for a heated second. Every kiss and touch they’d shared still burned like liquid flame in his veins.
Nick raised the rapidly melting ice and ran it across her collarbone, watched as the cold stream dripped down her skin, the rivulet snaking beneath her little top. The moisture made dark spots on the fabric over her breasts. He brought the cubes up and ran them slowly over her jaw, along her cheek and across her lips.
“You suck at playing fair,” she said to him, the anger missing from her tone now.
He lowered his head and kissed her cold wet lips. They warmed immediately, and she offered him her tongue. She tasted tart and sweet, like the lemonade she’d drunk, and he couldn’t get enough of her. He couldn’t deny his need for her anymore and he would trust her to know what she wanted.
Eagerly, she reached for him, and he pulled her close. They strained against each other, pressing, grasping, struggling for more closeness, more stimulating contact. Ryanne tugged at the hem of his T-shirt and he obliged her by yanking the damp fabric off over his head. Her delicate fingers on his chest were a touch so erotic, he groaned.
“You’re sticky here,” she said, and lowered her mouth to the spot where she’d splashed the lemonade. Her tongue darted out and tasted his skin. “Sweet, too.”
He grasped the hem of her cotton top, and she raised her arms, letting him slip it off over her head. She untied a fabric sash, and her skirt slid down her thighs to pool on the floor at her feet.
Nick studied her pink-tipped ivory breasts, enjoyed the teasing sight of the tiny triangle of silk and lace she wore. He’d thought about her underwear in great detail ever since that night he’d barged into her room and seen her in nothing but. Bending on one knee, he reached for her sandals and pulled the straps from her heels. She kicked the shoes aside and placed her hands on his shoulders.
Finally he was able to see and touch the woman he’d desired for so long. He cupped her hips and pressed his cheek to her belly worshipfully.
The scent and softness of her skin were aphrodisiacs to his already acute senses. He pressed kisses across her stomach, up the valley between her breasts, took a nipple in his mouth and heard her sharp intake of breath.
While he dimly thought he should go slowly and enjoy every moment, Ryanne’s incredible responsiveness urged him to proceed more quickly. Somehow they moved to the stairs, the aged wood creaking under his weight.
“Sit,” she told him.
He obeyed and stared at her beauty while she removed his shoes and tossed his socks over the railing. She leaned forward to kiss him, and once again he was lost in her taste and warmth and sweet passion. He caressed her breasts the way she’d liked earlier, and she stepped up to straddle his lap.
He cupped her hips through the flimsy material and drew her flush against the straining erection just beneath a layer of denim.
“Upstairs,” she said urgently against his mouth.
Somehow she disentangled herself and took his hand, leading him to her dark bedroom.
She switched a nightlight on, dimly revealing her form. Her hair was a wild tangle of honey-blond curls, her lips puffy from his kisses. Her skin glowed from the heat and dampness of the night air. She tossed a pile of ruffled pillows from the bed and pulled down the chenille spread.
At least it was a double, he thought, unbuckling his belt and watching her strip off the panties and wait for him on the pink-checked sheets.
She didn’t look away as he removed his jeans and underwear in one fell swoop. Instead she smiled and reached for him. He stretched out beside her, taking her in his arms, shuddering at the silken slide of her ivory skin along his entire body.
&n
bsp; “I can’t believe this is you, Nick,” she said, stroking his back and shoulders, bringing her hands around to enclose his swollen hardness and elicit a curse from him. “When did you get so…so…”
“Big?” he suggested with a grin.
“Sexy,” she finished.
This was not how friends behaved. He knew it in the back of his sex-starved mind. She’d insisted that he remain her friend, and he would try, but everything had changed, and sooner or later she would have to face that. But not tonight. Not now. Ryanne had finally allowed Nick into a portion of her world, and he meant to enjoy it.
He pushed her back onto the pillows, leaned over her and touched her cheek tenderly. The kiss he gave her was meant to show her just how long he’d waited for this moment, how deeply he felt for her and how he would gladly accept however much or little she was willing to give him. Because he loved her. And he always had.
He deepened the kiss and she pressed herself against him, urged him to move over her. Touching her, he discovered she was slick and swollen with readiness, and he thought his heart would stop at the sheer ecstasy of her eagerness.
She was impatient, greedy, and he entered her swiftly, matching his strokes to her sounds of pleasure and her corresponding movements. The remaining pillows fell to the floor; the sheets tangled at their feet. Their bodies grew slick with perspiration.
Ryanne dug her nails into the small of his back and wordlessly demanded he not slow down. Her entire body tensed and then jerked, and she cried out. Nick’s release was quick and fierce and left him shaky from exertion. He rolled to one side, taking her with him. Finding the eyelet-edged sheet, he used a bunched up wad to dry his forehead and then Ryanne’s damp body.
They turned onto their backs, their breath labored, their skin cooling. Nick hazily registered the fact that a fan in the window had been blowing ineffectively across them the whole time.
“Nick?”
“What?”
“Was that normal?”
“It usually takes longer. It’s been a while, and you’ve driven me crazy for a week.”
She chuckled. “I didn’t mean that. I meant, well…I don’t know.”
He rolled his head to look at her in the dim glow. “You think it was perverted or something?”
“No, no,” she said, waving a hand limply. “I mean—is that the way it usually is?”
“The way what is?”
“You know.”
“Sex?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“It certainly wasn’t usual for me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Didn’t you and Holly have good sex?”
“We had sex. Never that intense.”
“Oh.”
A minute passed where she said nothing, and his mind kicked into overdrive. “What about you and Mason?”
“You remembered his name.”
“Well…yeah.”
“It was just sort of expected,” she said. “Like we should do it because we were married. But nothing like this ever happened.”
His heart had slowed to a normal cadence, and he concentrated on her words.
“We probably only did it ten times the whole time we were married,” she added.
He propped himself on his elbow to look at her. Ten times in how many years? What was wrong with the man? “And you said Mason was the first?”
“He was.”
“So…” Nick’s mind rolled the information over, working to assimilate this surprising data. “You’d only had sex ten times before tonight?”
“About.”
He laced his fingers through her hair and combed out tangles. “Something is definitely wrong with that man.”
She turned to meet his eyes in the semidarkness. “Or with me.”
He shook his head. “Sweetheart, there’s not a thing wrong with any part of you.” Just talking about it, lying here beside her and inhaling her scent, had him wanting her again. He pressed his erection against her thigh and her eyes widened. “In fact…what would you say to ten times in one night?”
“I really have to go,” he said an hour or so later. Neither of them had looked at the clock. “I haven’t checked on Jamie, and even though I switched on the intercom to Dad’s room, I need to make sure everything’s okay.”
“We haven’t reached ten yet.”
“Are you trying to kill me?”
“It was your suggestion.”
“That it was. Your skin is so soft right here….”
“Mm-hmm. Your hands feel so good on me, Nick. Sometimes I don’t think I can stand it.”
“Is this really happening, Rye?”
“I think so. Oh…oh, yes. You could check on Jamie and come back.”
“What will you do while I’m gone?”
“Take a bath?”
“Don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because we can take one together when I get back.”
“I’ll light candles.”
“I’ll hurry.”
They didn’t reach ten, but the following morning Ryanne’s unaccustomed body knew they’d made a good start on the goal. She soaked in a tub of warm water, thinking about the slide of Nick’s soap-slicked skin against hers as they’d nestled together in the big old cast-iron tub in the wee hours of the morning.
“I’ve kept you up all night,” she’d said as they kissed with open mouths, their wet hair dripping on each other.
“You certainly have,” he’d replied with a lecherous wiggle of his dark brows.
Ryanne smiled at the memory and stretched languorously in the water. She’d never known such physical intimacy was possible. Never understood the concept of crazy, head-over-heels physical or emotional attraction until this very moment, while her mind was clear and her body satiated and sore, yet still greedy for Nick Sinclair.
He was at his job now, but if he came into this room right this moment, she would once again be willing and eager for his lovemaking. Her desire for him frightened her, threatened her sense of independence. She’d never needed anyone, not ever. She’d set out to accomplish her scholastic and career goals, depending on no one but herself, and she would continue to do so.
Even after losing everything and being betrayed, she had pulled herself up and devised a plan to move forward and fix things. Her life was not going to play out here in Elmwood. She had a couple of good job prospects to consider, and in order to pay her debts, she would be taking one of them.
Nick would not be a part of her life.
Beneath the minimal weight of the sudsy water, her chest felt heavy at the realization. She closed her eyes and remembered every divine detail of their intimacy. She’d never imagined she would experience anything so raw, yet so beautiful…so humbling and yet so empowering. And never, never in a million years and a million fanciful dreams had she imagined Nick would be the man to awaken her to the sensual side of herself.
Nick believed she was going back to California. Perhaps to him, she was a brief diversion—a discreet means to satisfy a physical hunger. He’d told her that he didn’t form relationships with women in town because of the gossip it would create, but she didn’t want to believe she’d simply been handy. In her heart of hearts, she knew he desired her as deeply as she did him.
Could he show her such tenderness and pleasure and then simply say goodbye? It was his nature to give.
Maybe he gives too much. Maybe you don’t give enough.
The voice of her conscience had her opening her eyes and facing reality. This new sensual discovery was too wonderful to deny herself just because it was temporary. She was too selfish to vow to go back to the way things had been before, even though that’s what her moral sense told her she should do.
Ryanne pulled the stopper to let the water run down the drain, and stood to dry off. She studied her body in the mirror, really seeing it for the first time, appreciating her femininity with a whole new outlook.
She wan
ted this time with Nick. She needed it. She would just have to keep in mind that it would be over soon, and enjoy every brief minute while it lasted.
The sun beat down mercilessly as Nick chased another turkey across the road and into the tall dusty grass. Striding forward, he flushed half a dozen more out into the open and grabbed as many as he could. The one he’d been chasing ran down the highway to join a dozen more of the pathetically ugly creatures.
“Nobody can say this isn’t a glamorous job,” he told the driver of the overturned semi, who’d been taken to the clinic to be treated for a few cuts and bruises and then driven back to help round up the escaped poultry. At least a hundred wooden crates lay broken or open along the roadside, and all available deputies and manpower had been called out to help with the cleanup.
“I came around that turn back there, and smack-dab in the middle of the road were half a dozen cows,” the driver explained yet again with exasperation.
Nick’s deputy, Bryce Olson, hauled a crateful of the pale, sickly looking fowl to the back of a nearby pickup, then grimaced at the smears on his brown pant leg. He emitted a vivid curse before glaring at the semi driver and descending the bank once again with an empty crate.
“It’s going to be tomorrow morning before they get out here to haul my rig up,” the driver said.
“What are we going to do with all these turkeys in the meantime?” Nick asked. “They can’t sit out here in the sun and fry.”
“I called the farm. They won’t take ’em back,” the harried man explained. Nick concentrated on the white bandage on the man’s forehead and tried to remember this had been an accident.
“I’m trying to find someone to come get them, but nobody wants to touch this mess.”
“I can understand that.” Nick wiped his forehead with the back of a hand and adjusted his hat.
“My guess is they’re going to write this load off.”
“And where does that leave us?” Nick looked around in disgust. “Let me make a few calls.” He climbed into his cruiser, started the engine and cranked up the air-conditioning. On even less sleep than usual, he was functioning at low capacity today, not a good condition for a man with a loaded gun and a low opinion of live turkeys.
Nick All Night Page 11
