Take My Breath Away

by Christie Ridgway

  INHALING A DEEP breath of clean morning air, Poppy thumbed off her cell and hoped she’d just heard the last piece of bad news a man would have to share with her for a long, long while. A school pal who now had his own construction/renovation company had phoned to report on his inspection of the cabins. Though he promised he’d give her a “bro” deal and had time to begin the work soon, there was a lot to be done. As she’d suspected, the place that had been Ryan’s required a new roof.

  As for her own, her friend said the damage to the mudroom—just a primitively enclosed porch—didn’t put her belongings and furniture at risk, but made the cabin an unsafe place to live until repaired. Oh, and while he was there, a tow truck had carted off her busted-up vehicle. In his opinion, total loss.

  Following Grimm and Mason, Poppy descended the steps leading from the house’s back terrace to the expanse of forest and grass that sloped toward the lake. She had no idea of the acreage of Ryan’s property, but stands of pines, cedars and oaks screened the area from any neighboring homes on the right and left. There were other mansions in sight, but they were across the lake and looked dollhouse-size in the distance. From where she stood, it appeared Ryan had the deep bend of this bay all to himself.

  The beauty of the view didn’t smooth away her stress, unfortunately. Broken roofs and broken cars meant big bills that would require some uncomfortable financial juggling in the short term. Long term, it put into jeopardy her dream of getting the resort into shape. She wasn’t afraid of hard work, but she was afraid of what her siblings would say if the cabins turned into a deeper, darker money pit.

  The one good news bulletin of the morning was that Mason claimed his head didn’t hurt at all and he must be telling the truth given the energetic way he skipped in and out of the trees bordering the great span of grass. He’d unzipped his red sweatshirt and she didn’t blame him. Though it might be winter in the deep shade of the conifers, in the sunlight she guessed the temperature would near seventy today.

  She strolled closer to the lake, running her gaze over the sickle-shaped area of sandy beach. Beside it, a walkway led over the lake to a spacious canopy-covered platform with a ramp connecting it to a double dock—not surprisingly empty at this time of year. If Ryan owned any boats, they would be stored at the marina, she supposed, or in the estate’s stand-alone garages.

  Beyond the dock, the lake sparkled in the morning light. It was nearing spring and today the water was a bright, nautical blue, already losing the silvery, cold-season cast that always reminded Poppy of the scales on the freshwater bass fishermen pulled from the local waters. The ragged peaks ringing the lake still had snow on their highest summits, however, and the beauty of the contrast struck her hard. It was said her ancestors first made their way here in March, driving oxen harnessed to carts up steep inclines as soon as the snow began to melt. They would have seen their new world like this—a paradise of natural resources caught between winter and warmth.

  “Mom!” Mason called to her. “I just stepped in Grimm’s poop!”

  Yeah, Poppy thought, with a little laugh. Paradise. “Wipe the bottom of your feet on the pine needles, honey. We’ll check your shoes before we go back inside the house.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  The male voice had her whirling around, her pulse leaping. It subsided when she saw it was Linus, his sandy hair rumpled. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his wary gaze trained on her face. “Hi,” he said.

  “Good morning,” she replied. Mason and Grimm had found a narrow trail that took them deeper into the trees and Poppy followed, Linus keeping pace.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Of course.” Through the feathery branches of rough-barked cedars, she spied a rock-sided building. Older than the house, she decided. The rectangular structure was lit from within and its long, narrow windows were partially fogged. Curious, she lengthened her stride.

  “Last night...it went okay?”

  Last night. Images and memories she’d been trying to block since awakening flooded through her. Should she be appalled? Was so much dark pleasure—at times impersonal, at others so intimate she might not be able to meet her own eyes in a mirror—regrettable or...a revelation? Her naïveté made her feel stupid. Did normal couples share their flesh in such rough and wondrous ways and then get up the next morning and exchange sections of newspaper and their plans for the day?

  It sure made marriage sound a lot more interesting.

  Not that she was thinking of marriage with Ryan, she told herself. Not that! Still, just saying his name in her head made the mark she’d found on the inside of her thigh that morning tingle. Had he actually bitten her there? And had she actually liked it, because she remembered moaning in response to the small sting.

  Her face flushed and she rushed up to the building to avoid Linus making note of her discomfiture. Placing her hands on the cool glass, she peered inside. A swimming pool. Tendrils of steam rose from its aquamarine surface. It was oversize, with an adjacent hot tub. A man was spearing through the water, his arm movements aggressive, his feet propelling him though the water with efficient speed.

  Ryan touched the tiled wall, rolled into a turn and then kept swimming. There was something almost frantic about his movements and she had the odd sense that he was using the exercise as a means of escape...an impossible escape at that, as he was enclosed by sleek walls of tile and then solid stone.

  She glanced at Linus. Again, lines of worry were carved into his forehead as he watched his brother’s ruthless pace. “You should have warned me,” she told him. “You sent me to him last night knowing nothing.”

  Without taking his gaze off the pool, Linus grimaced. “It was his story to tell.”

  She ached as she remembered Ryan’s hoarse voice, the brutal words. Four years ago this month I lost my son. He died. Her gaze instinctively sought Mason, who was digging in the dirt with a stick a few feet away.

  What if she lost him?

  Her heart twisted, as if wrung by a brutal fist. Even the idea robbed her of breath. Mason was the love of her life. “How does Ryan stand it?” she murmured.

  “As you see,” Linus said simply, nodding toward the pool where his brother continued swimming, arm over arm, arm over arm, the punishing speed never diminishing.

  Ryan had maintained that same focus the night before in bed. She supposed she should have been afraid—well, it was true that a small thread of alarm had wiggled around in her belly. But that touch of apprehension had, she was almost ashamed to admit, added a layer of spice to the undeniable desire that rushed through her veins whenever she was around him. He was a thousand times more experienced than her, she knew that, but she could tell he’d been overcome by need, too, desperate for her, even if it was only for the relief she could provide. That knowledge had seemed to balance the scales a little.

  Ryan Hamilton had needed her, and God help her, she’d wanted to give him everything after what he’d shared. Though Poppy’s fascination with the man had been there from the very first, of course. Now that she knew about the pain and heartbreak that lay beneath his beautiful exterior, she was only more conflicted about...everything.

  Licking her lips, she glanced again at Linus. “Last night...he didn’t tell me much beyond the very basics.”

  “What else are you itching to know?”

  She frowned. “That obvious?”

  His mouth quirking in a small smile, he shrugged. “I’m an attentive observer.”

  Feeling her face heat, Poppy sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. She hesitated a moment more, then her need to know overcame her embarrassment. “He told me about his son. And I know Tate’s mother died, too. But...” Oh, what the heck. “Was Ryan in love with her?”

  “No,” Linus said, shaking his head. “They met on a set—she was a number of years older, part of the production staff
. She pursued him pretty hard. He was twenty-one.”

  Show me a completely wise person of that age and I’ll buy you a pony. So he’d known firsthand about youthful decision-making.

  “When she told him she was pregnant, she’d already moved on to someone higher up in the movie studio. But Miranda did the math and came to Ryan. Between you and me? I think she was hoping to snag a man with a pregnancy, but I can’t prove it and my brother would never utter a word against her. The DNA test established Tate was his, and they amicably shared custody. Ryan doted on his son and Miranda seemed to, as well.” Linus scrubbed his hand over his face and his voice went scratchy. “When I think about what happened...words fail.”

  Poppy’s heart twisted all over again. Mason came running past and she snagged his arm, then pulled him close for a fierce hug. She ignored his routine protest, closing her eyes to hold back stinging tears. “I love you, baby,” she murmured, curling herself over him so she could place a soft kiss beside the bandage on his forehead. “I love you so much.”

  “Promise you’ll stay,” Linus said suddenly.

  Mason slipped out of her arms to run after Grimm and Poppy drew her sweatshirt sleeve across her eyes. “Oh, but—”

  “Just until the 31st. If you’re here, he’ll remain at the house, as well. That way I can keep an eye on him.”

  But...but...last night! She wasn’t certain she could look Ryan in the eye after that, after her moans, her whispering pleas, her complete surrender to him and all the things he’d done with her. How could she contemplate continuing in his company? She’d stolen out of his bed while he was sleeping, that’s how cowardly she was.

  “On April 1st, I guarantee he’ll go back to L.A. After March, he becomes a different person. No longer volatile, his leash tight again.”

  “You make him sound like a wild animal.”

  Linus lifted a shoulder. “There have been accidents in March. Self-destructive decisions—”

  “Don’t tell me.” She wiped her sleeve across her eyes again, remembering Linus mentioning a broken collarbone and leg, a damaged spleen. “That isn’t fair.”

  “I won’t apologize for it. I care a lot about my brother, Poppy. I swear having you at the house helps.”

  “I’m not sure—”

  “You’re a distraction.”

  She laughed, the sound a trifle hysterical. What scared her most about Ryan—that he was suffering so deeply—was being used against her now. Though...what if Linus was right and she did help his brother in some way? “Still not playing fair.”

  He gave her a faint grin. “The provenance of younger siblings. Do you have any?”

  “I’m number three of four.”

  “Then you know. The older ones boss us around but we always find a way to get what we want.”

  She thought of her brother and sisters. All of them were against the idea of making a go of the cabins, but Poppy had yet to back down. Despite the storm damage and the expense of the repairs, she remained determined.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Ryan was still slicing through the water. His body was big, muscled—she had an intimate acquaintance with it, she thought with a shiver—and he’d yet to slow. Still attempting that futile escape.

  Linus stood beside her for a long, silent moment, then he turned back toward the house. “Think about it, Poppy. Not only are you a distraction, but I’m convinced you do him good. You and Mason.”

  Which was more bad news, Poppy decided, as she watched him stride away. It obligated her in a way she worried she might not survive.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and still absorbed in her thoughts, she answered it without checking the display. A familiar voice had her stiffening.

  Another male with unpleasant tidings, she concluded instantly. Then he confirmed her fear.

  “We need to meet,” Denny Howell said.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  RYAN LEFT THE pool house wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, his swim trunks rolled in a towel as he padded along the path through the trees. An hour of swimming hadn’t brought clarity. Lap after lap only served to let his mind wander through images of the night before. Poppy’s lovely breasts. The scorching softness between her legs. Poppy on her knees, her back arched as he drove inside her, as he touched her with such blistering intimacy.

  He’d done her rough and dirty just like he’d wanted, then woken wanting her all over again. To find her gone from his room had almost made him angry. Then cool relief had coursed through him.

  Because what was he supposed to do with her now? An apology was probably in order, but he wasn’t sure he could get through it without dragging her back to his bed, where he could ravish her all over again.

  She’d probably crept off to nurse her wounds.

  God, had he hurt her?

  But no, he remembered her moans and cries and knew she’d found pleasure. Though not in the same gentle manner that he’d coaxed her to climax back in the cabin.

  Her innocence, however, probably needed a reboot.

  He paused at the place where the path ended in the expanse of grass that rose to meet the back of the house. Even in the mere few days they’d been here, the lawn appeared to be rejuvenating, the blades more green and firm-looking. On either side of the terrace steps were raised planting beds, and he could see long green shoots poking through the soil.

  As he’d never been here in March, and couldn’t distinguish between a weed and a petunia in any case, he had no idea what was sprouting. The natural landscape was coming out of hibernation, though, that was sure, and served as a direct contrast to how dead he continued to feel inside. Only his raw emotions were alive, moving like a raging winter river splashing over and around the impregnable rocks that were his heart and soul.

  The jingle of a dog collar snatched him out of his reverie. He jolted, then jolted again when Poppy’s towhead caught his sleeve. Ryan stared at the kid’s bandaged brow. Am I gonna die, Duke? Am I gonna die?

  He wanted to turn away from the boy, take off in the opposite direction, but even he couldn’t be so callous. “How’s the noggin?” he asked, touching his own.

  “Good” was the reply, accompanied by a show of white baby teeth.

  Ryan had forgotten how small they were. Tate had lost two during one of his custody weeks. With great ritual, they’d wrapped each in a scrap of tissue and placed them under his pillow. Sneaking into the bedroom in the middle of the night, he’d had a hell of a time finding the tiny things without waking his son.

  Who would never wake again.

  Anguish clawed at Ryan, and he closed his eyes at the tearing pain. Though no nightmares had plagued his sleep last night, it seemed they could come with daylight, too. Grimm whined and pushed his head against his hand.

  Ryan moved away. “I gotta go, kid.” Avoidance was the answer. The house had twelve bedrooms, sixteen bathrooms, a gym, a media room, an office, a den, a living room, a dining room and a bunch of other places where he could get lost. Where he could hole up, keeping himself and his foul moods away from everyone. Where he wouldn’t have to face whatever was going on in Poppy’s head, as well. “I gotta go back to the house. Do some work.”

  “Me, too,” the boy said, skipping to keep up with Ryan’s longer strides. “I’m making a new map. I’ll give it to you when it’s done. Me and Grimm are finding some good escape routes around here. Hiding places, too. I put a red X on ’em, okay?”

  “Sure.” Ryan rubbed at his temple with the heel of his hand. The sunshine glinted off the kid’s blond hair and the brightness was stabbing at his always-incipient headache.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” the boy asked.

  The question startled him into halting. “What would you know about girlfriends?”

  “From Stu. He’s eight and comes to my day care after sc
hool. He told me everything about girlfriends.”

  “Uh...” Ryan glanced around, seeking assistance. Where the hell was Poppy? Had her son sensed something between Ryan and her? And what “everything” could somebody eight know about girlfriends, anyway?

  “Stu says his dad, Ivan, wants to be my mom’s boyfriend.”

  “Um.” Ivan? He sounded terrible, Ryan thought, resisting a juvenile smirk.

  “Miss Robin—she’s in charge at day care—told one of the other moms that Ivan’s a good man.”

  “Hmm.”

  “One of the moms told another mom that Ivan looks like he could keep a woman happy. Then the other mom said that if he could keep a job, that was good enough. What do you think?”

  “I think you listen an awful lot to what adults say to each other.”

  “They forget kids have ears.”

  “You’re probably right,” Ryan murmured, as his gaze finally landed on Poppy. She stood against the terrace’s stone railing, her cell phone pressed to the side of her head. From this distance he couldn’t make out her expression, but her slender figure seemed...stiff to him somehow. Was she sore from the night before? God.

  “Duke?”

  He glanced at the kid’s upturned, expectant face, taking in the corn-silk hair and big blue eyes. “Uh...”

  “You could superspy, maybe. Find out about Ivan.”

  Ryan didn’t want to know any more about Ivan. “Look, you get I was just pretending for that movie, right? I’m not really a superspy.”

  The kid’s expression didn’t change. “You’re on the job. I’ve seen you.” He moved, making a decent facsimile of a left jab followed by a roundhouse kick, just a couple of the moves that Ryan and Linus practiced in the gym. They’d been aware of the boy observing them a couple of times, but had pretended not to notice.

  “Yes, but—”

  “I don’t think I like Ivan,” the boy said. “Plus, Stu steals Cheerios from the babies.”

  “That is low,” Ryan conceded, restarting his return to the house. He hesitated a moment, then let curiosity get the better of him. “What don’t you like about this Ivan?”