“Because I so want to commemorate the day,” Ryan muttered under his breath.
Yet still she heard it, and Poppy found herself instantly annoyed. Under-breath muttering was her due, wasn’t it? She’d been minding her own business, returning quite happily to her role as Mason’s mommy, when she was drawn into some kind of weird fame-warp. “It’s not like this was my plan,” she said hotly.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You didn’t tell me you have a kid.”
“I didn’t think the fact I’m a single mom was any of your business.” Considering she hadn’t been acting very momlike...especially in his bed. “You didn’t tell me you’re a famous person.”
“I didn’t want that to be your business,” he said, muttering again.
“Still you have no right to be angry—”
“People, people,” Linus injected in a cheerful tone. “Recriminations get us nowhere, so let’s go back to thinking of dinner instead. I’m willing to cook, which is a very good thing since Ryan has no meal-making talent beyond dropping olives into martinis.”
“Hey!” Ryan said. “I just spent several days on my own and I managed perfectly fine.”
“By heating canned soup and nuking frozen burritos, most likely.”
Poppy took a hefty swallow of her wine. “I only got the canned soup,” she said. “He must have been hoarding the burritos.”
Linus’s brows lifted as he glanced between Poppy and Ryan. “You were making dinner for the lady?”
“It’s a long story,” they answered together.
“I’m perfectly willing to be entertained by learning how you two went from tomato soup to sharing spit for the curious public. Yes,” he said, in answer to Poppy’s inquiring gaze, “I’ve seen the video.”
“The explanation’s not that interesting,” Ryan said, his tone dismissive.
Poppy told herself it was ridiculous to feel crushed by the remark. They’d had the one go in his bed. She might have found it...interesting, but for a man like Ryan Hamilton, who apparently had some porn-star princess in his past, as well as who knew how many other women, it likely had been nothing beyond banal.
But did he have to say so out loud?
Maybe she should call Brett right now. Steel herself for his “I told you so,” along with a few of his usual “knuckleheads” and “featherbrains” thrown in, then get him out here to take her and Mason to his place. There, she could crash on her brother’s couch—well, after he spent the next several hours airing his autocratic viewpoint on the cabins and how she shouldn’t have taken up any ridiculous idea to offer them as vacation rentals in the first place.
An opinion she’d heard several times before.
Poppy downed the rest of her wine and decided to postpone that call. The less time she had with her brother before lights-out, the shorter the lecture. Linus topped off her glass again, and she smiled at him. Ignoring Ryan and his dark lurking presence in the kitchen would go easier with a second—or was it third?—glass of wine. “Linus, what can I do to help with dinner?”
He didn’t let her do much of anything. So she sipped at her wine, gave Ryan the cold shoulder and finally feasted on a glorious penne, chicken and mushroom dish. Though she checked on Mason before the meal was served, he was deeply asleep and she didn’t try to wake him.
She did help with the dishes, and then continued chatting with Linus, who was everything his brother wasn’t—charming, talkative and very easy to be around. They talked about Blue Arrow Lake and his summer scouting film locations in the area. They traded their favorite scenic vistas and the best place on the mountain to get breakfast. She shared tales of what it was like growing up in a place where everyone knew everyone else.
All this, while Ryan sat in brooding silence.
For the dozenth time, Poppy snuck a peek at him, then her glance caught on the hands of the watch wrapped around his wrist. She jerked in her seat. “It’s midnight. I’ve got to call my brother to come get Mason and me.” Her brother, one of those early-to-bed, early-to-rise types, would not thrilled to hear from her this late, she thought with a grimace.
“Wait until tomorrow, kiddo,” Linus advised. He ducked into the next room and came out with a drowsy Mason in his arms. “We’ve got plenty of rooms here.”
Her gaze transferred to Ryan, and she guessed he might resent her continued presence.
As if reading her mind, he pulled her chair from the table. “It’s okay. We’ll figure things out in the morning.”
After a brief inner struggle, she gave in to the idea and clambered to her feet, wobbling a little. Ryan grabbed her elbow and she shot him a look. “I’m fine.”
“I know,” he said. “Let me just show you to a be—room. You’ll be right next door to your son.”
She insisted on taking Mason from Linus, then climbed the stairs to a second-floor bedroom, Grimm right behind her. There, after Linus showed up with their luggage, she got the little boy through bathroom chores before putting him between flannel sheets. By the time the dog jumped up to curl on his half of the mattress, Mason was already back asleep. When she half closed his door, she discovered Ryan waiting for her in the hall. “You’ll be in here,” he said, gesturing to the next room.
Peeking inside, weariness swamped her as a low light on the bedside table illuminated a wide bed and a bank of fluffy pillows. Okay. Brett’s couch wouldn’t be nearly this comfortable.
She swung around to face Ryan, his features austere, his expression unreadable in the shadowy hall. “Good night.”
With a nod, he turned and headed down the corridor.
Alone, she donned her pajamas, did her duties in the adjoining bathroom and wiggled into another set of soft flannel linens. Then a tiny electronic chirp sounded.
A device built into the wall by the bedside table had lit up, a small panel with buttons and dials. Ryan’s voice came through it, low but clear. “Poppy?”
She leaned up on an elbow. “Yes? Where are you?”
“My own suite. The chefs loved their gadgets. The whole house is wired with an intercom system.”
“Oh.” She relaxed back on the pillows and wondered if he was lying in bed, too—naked, like last night. Not that she’d actually seen his nakedness. It had been very dark and she’d been very grateful for that. After one lover and five years of celibacy it would have been too great a shock to her system to look at Ryan without clothes.
It could have caused blindness. Hives were another possibility. As it was, Poppy thought she might have developed a mild case of contact dermatitis, because her skin was prickling just talking to Ryan while she was thinking about his big body in bed.
After sex, she’d been tempted to snuggle up to that wide chest, imagining his strong arms keeping her close. So instead, she’d forced herself to turn away. Even in sleep she’d maintained a safe stretch of sheet between them. “Did you need something?”
“Just...” He hesitated. “Look, Poppy...”
The sound of him breathing made her think of him breathing on her, and she started tingling all over. “‘Look, Poppy’...what?”
“I don’t want you to worry. I’m going to take care of everything.”
Since they were in separate rooms, he couldn’t see her grimace. Her voice was pleasant when she wished him good-night. But she didn’t say any more, including that, however well-meaning, she would never rely on such promises from a man like him.
* * *
IN THE MORNING, Ryan was the first in the kitchen. He arrived after a short detour to the office, where he checked in on the gang at the gate. Smoke curled up from the tips of cigarettes. Steam rose from paper cups of coffee.
The paparazzi hadn’t lost interest yet.
Nor had the rest of the world, he discovered. Once he’d programmed the coffeemaker, he fired up his laptop and clic
ked on the top five entertainment sites. Grant and Anabelle—or, more accurately, Granabelle—were front and center. Under headlines like Wowza! Wedding! and Newbie Nuptials were photos of them enjoying a late lunch at the Chalet, their new rings shining as bright as their smiles. Reports were that they’d left the Blue Arrow Lake airstrip for a weeks-long honeymoon in an undisclosed location—which Ryan knew to be San Francisco—and he wondered if he could lure them back sooner. More glamour shots of the couple might eclipse those of him and Poppy that were heavily featured on the sites’ front pages, as well. There they were kissing. There was Poppy and her son looking wide-eyed and confused. Several photos of their rushed escape from the parking lot were visible at the click of a mouse, all accompanied by slug lines along the same theme that Ryan found uncomfortably apt: March Madness.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he looked away from the screen and out the windows. It was a spectacular vista, he supposed, the lake a steely blue, the opposite shore rising to steep terrain covered with dark green conifers and leafless oaks, their silver-gray branches spread like arms waiting for spring to dress them in their new season’s clothes. Snow glinted in the sun at the highest reaches. But the beauty felt dormant, Ryan thought, without breath and without energy, just as he did so much of the time.
At the sound of footsteps, he tensed, hurrying to shut down the computer. He relaxed a little when it was Linus, not Poppy, who strolled into the room. “Yo. Bro,” the younger man said as he crossed to the espresso machine. “How’d you sleep?”
“Same as always.” Like shit. “Surprised to see you up. Thought I’d have the morning to myself a while longer.”
Linus grunted. “I’ve been awake for some time. Saw Poppy and her boy out the window—”
“Crap! The paparazzi—”
“They were exploring the lakeshore with the dog. Paps couldn’t see ’em from the front gates.”
“Thank God the lake is private or else they’d be out in boats trying for another angle.” He once again pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you know where she and her son are now?”
“Upstairs. She’s reading to Mason in his room. He has coloring books and crayons and that Grimm’s in there, too. Nice pooch.”
“She tried telling me he’s an attack dog.” Ryan looked back out the window. “And, damn it, she never told me about the kid.” The night before, after showing Mason and Poppy into their rooms, he’d explained to his brother why they’d been forced to leave the cabins.
“So? You didn’t tell her all your secrets.”
“As they say, what she doesn’t know...” He redirected his gaze to Linus. “Anyhow, this ends today. She’s leaving. I’m leaving. You’re leaving.”
His brother studied his face as he sipped at his coffee. “Yeah? Because I was thinking, we all could stay here, weather out March together.”
Ryan stared. “The three of us?”
Glancing down at his hand, Linus appeared to count on his fingers. “Plus the boy and the dog. That’s five.”
The boy. At the thought, Ryan nearly jumped out of his skin. “Not going to happen.”
“I got the impression you kind of like this my Poppy.”
The sound of Ryan’s back teeth grinding was loud in his head. “Stop that.”
“Well, don’t you?”
“This is March. We both know I do stupid things in March.” Though it hadn’t felt the least bit stupid to have her small, firm breasts in his hands. He’d thumbed the tender nipples, enjoying the hell out of the sound of her sweet, baffled moan as she arched into his touch. In that dark room it could have been any month, or no month at all. It was Poppy Time, an interlude that was punctuated by her sighs and her fresh-shampoo scent and the satiny feel of her skin against his hands. With her at his mercy, with her under him, he’d thought of nothing but pleasing her. There’d been no pain, no dark shadows, only the unsullied gladness he’d felt at bringing her to release.
The past four years he’d been so damn self-involved, and nothing he’d tried managed to halt the deep, dreary spiral. Until Poppy. Being with her seemed to suspend the inexorable spin.
Linus crossed to the refrigerator and yanked open the door. “Maybe we can put stupid March behind you for once and for all if we stick together.”
Was he fucking kidding? “Behind me?”
“There will always be March, of course—I get that.” Linus drew out a carton of juice. “For me, too. The whole family. But maybe we can open the drapes and let some optimism in again.”
Optimism about what? Ryan thought wearily. “Look, I just want to get out of here.” Though he’d discovered during the past four years that there was no place to hide from himself.
The air stirred, signaling a new arrival. Poppy’s scent tickled his nose, that shampoo-freshness of her infusing the room a moment before her slender figure entered. Today she wore a fisherman’s knit sweater over jeans tucked into laced-up, distressed leather boots. Her hair hung down around her shoulders, though it still retained the wave of her usual braid.
He’d never seen her hair freed like that, except for that night in his bed. At the memory, his blood pulsed heavily toward his groin, and he moved, distancing himself from her and distracting his body from an imminent and embarrassing hard-on. “Linus, get Poppy some coffee or juice.”
“Sure, boss. Yes, boss.”
Ryan didn’t bother to acknowledge the sarcasm. He pulled a chair out at the table and dropped into it as Poppy perched her hip on a bar stool eight feet away. When Linus passed her a mug of coffee, she took a tentative sip, then slid him a glance.
He pretended not to see it, even though he was aware of every move she made. Every damn breath. “So,” he began. “The plan is—”
“I can plan for myself,” Poppy interrupted. “You don’t need to be concerned about me.”
“This is what’s going to happen,” he said, acting as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’ll go out the gates, making sure the group there sees it’s me. I’ll drive fast, that always piques their interest, and once I hit the highway—”
“You’ll drive safely, right?” Poppy said, a note of alarm in her voice. “I don’t like the idea of you speeding down the hill.”
“Yeah,” Linus added. “Weren’t you trying to outrun some paps when you crashed your Maserati three years ago?”
Ryan sent his brother a quelling look. “I’ll be fine.”
“Broken collarbone, broken leg and a busted spleen weren’t so fine.”
Poppy jumped from her stool and strode toward Ryan. Coming to a halt before him, she brushed her hair behind her ears, the honey strands framing her delicate features and creamy skin. “That’s not the way this will go.” She put her hands on her hips.
Bemused by the warrior light in her eyes, he stared into her pretty face, feeling his blood heating again. Shifting southward. “Look—”
“No, you look. You wanted some place to stay until the end of the month. You’ll have your peace and quiet now that your friends are gone. I’m going to call my sister so Mason, Grimm and I will be out of your hair. You can have your March just the way you wanted it.”
He never wanted another March, not ever. He scraped his hand through his hair. “The thing is...” The thing was...what? Inertia stole over him again. What did it matter where he parked his bones and skin? The lake house would be as good as anywhere else. His gaze slid over to Linus. It would probably mean he’d have to put up with his brother.
“I’m staying,” Linus confirmed, an obstinate expression overtaking his usually good-natured face. “You should, too.”
Ryan gave another half-hearted try. “The paps...”
“The outdoor temp is low enough to cool their interest pretty quick,” Linus said. “They’ll get bored sooner rather than later.”
“What about Poppy?” Ryan ask
ed. “Won’t she be hassled if she goes back to her life and I’m still here?”
“Nah,” Linus said. “They’ll leave her alone. What—” He broke off as Poppy’s phone trilled.
She dug it out of her pocket and moved away, though she remained within earshot. “Shay! I’ve been trying to reach you since early this morning.”
Ryan mouthed to Linus her sister.
“I— What?”
The odd note in Poppy’s voice had Ryan rising to his feet.
“They did what?” She glanced over at him, a flush of color staining her cheeks. “I’m sorry they blocked your driveway. Just ignore them as much as you can. I don’t know where they got the idea I’m a pole dancer, but don’t even bother responding.”
Ryan slid a look at Linus and spoke to him sotto voce. “They’ll leave her alone?”
His brother shrugged. “Hey, I didn’t know about the pole-dancing rumor.”
“What a load of bullshit.” Ryan shook his head. “Does she look like a pole dancer to you?” To him, she was woodland sprite, sexy, sure, but wholesome and appealing and...and fucking adorable in a please-let-me-do-her-again-immediately sort of way. Fine, he’d admit it.
She turned him on like nothing had in years.
And he must be attuned to her mentally, as well, because a chill washed over his skin the instant she stilled. Then the color left her face. “Denny? Denny called?” Her hand crept up to her throat.
Ryan was by her side in an instant. “Who’s Denny?” She swung away from him, he swung her back, holding firmly to her upper arm. “Who’s Denny?”
Her hand covered the mouthpiece. “Mason’s father,” she said, then listened to her sister again. “He saw me on TV. And on the internet? Oh, God. Shay, don’t give him my number—okay, good, good. I know. I know you wouldn’t.”
She closed her eyes in clear distress. Ryan fought the urge to gather her close as the conversation wound down. He didn’t have all the details, but could fill in a lot from just one side of the conversation. The celebrity gossip had caught her ex’s eye. After years without any contact, he was suddenly trying to get in touch.
Take My Breath Away Page 11
