Take My Breath Away

by Christie Ridgway

  She thought he could love more than he was aware, she thought he might have plenty to give. Neither changed what Ryan thought, though. “But like I learned a long time ago, you can’t make someone care for another person.”

  “Poppy, I—”

  And before he could finish the sentence, the front bell rang, the dog barked, Linus yelled something and then a sultry female voice vibrated through the house. “Darlings! The newlyweds have returned!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  TO RYAN’S MIND, his friends couldn’t have better timed their interruption, though he was surprised by their change of plans. “I thought you were intending a few more days in San Francisco before heading straight back to L.A.,” he said to Grant as he helped cart Anabelle’s pile of matched luggage into one of the guest rooms. “Christ, what does she have in these suitcases? Bricks?” He grimaced as he swung one bag onto the luggage rack he’d yanked from the closet.

  Grant wiggled his brows. “No complaining. There’s some very...inspirational lingerie in those bags.”

  “Since I assume I’m not going to see her in any of it, I get to grumble all I want.”

  “Isn’t the delectable Poppy enough woman for you? If you ask me, she’s...” Grant’s voice trailed off, but the grin that sold millions of movie tickets every year spoke volumes.

  Ryan pointed a finger at him. “No picturing Poppy in little nothings—or nothing at all, for that matter.”

  “Ho. So that is the way the wind blows. Linus hinted—”

  “You’ve been talking to Linus?” Ryan frowned.

  “It’s March, man. Anabelle and I are your best friends. We can be concerned. When we caught wind of what was happening, we decided to check in.”

  “Well, as you see, your concerns are baseless.”

  Grant draped a garment bag over the back of a chair. “Poppy’s made a new man out of you?”

  “What do you think?”

  His best friend eyed him. “Your temperament appears its usual sugar cubes and whipped cream.”

  “Yeah,” Ryan muttered. “That’s me, sweetness and light.” But who would be happy given Poppy’s disturbing revelation?

  I’ve fallen in love with you, Ryan. And I’m pretty certain you don’t want me to ask for what I want from you.... Which would be an April, by the way. And a May. Maybe a whole summer and another season after that. For me, and for you, and for Mason, I might even want a forever.

  What was wrong with the woman? She was nuts if she thought Ryan could handle any of that. It worried him, it really did, that she walked around with all that emotion pinned to her sleeve. She’d get over these misbegotten feelings for him—likely brought on by a hailstorm and single-mother celibacy—but she was bound to get really hurt someday, so he was left to fret about the next man who’d come along, play with her heart a little and then pass out of her life.

  Like he was going to do on April 1st.

  April Fool’s Day, a voice inside his head pointed out.

  Of course, he had to admit, it was entirely possible some good man would find her at those cabins where she hid herself, four miles from the fucking highway, but...

  But it had better not be Ivan the asshole with his cereal-stealer of a son. Or some other uncouth, bearded, mountain man. Worse yet though, it could be a smooth operator out of L.A., who would take her to bed and...

  Leave her like Ryan was going to on April 1st.

  April Fool’s Day, that voice whispered again.

  “What’s going on in that thick skull of yours?” Grant demanded.

  And because he didn’t want to think about Poppy’s confession anymore, let alone speak of it, Ryan told his friend about the blackmailing ex. It was testament to the odd turns of a famous life that Grant didn’t even blink. “Of course, you refused to hand over a dime.”

  “Right.”

  “What did you do?”

  He slid a look at his buddy. “You’re so sure I made some move?”

  “It took thirty seconds of me seeing you and Poppy together today—not to mention that wildfire of a kiss caught for posterity that Anabelle and I viewed twenty zillion times in our hotel room overlooking the Golden Gate—”

  “Perverts.”

  “—to know there’s something special going on between you two.”

  He wasn’t addressing that remark. “I made a call to my attorney. He’s got a private eye on retainer and between them they’ll determine what I need to do to shut down Denny-the-Dick Howell.”

  “Sounds sensible.”

  “Yeah? I’d rather just beat the shit out of him.” He headed for the door. “Don’t tell Poppy, all right? She believes she can handle any and every situation by herself.”

  Grant followed him out of the bedroom. “Why can’t these self-reliant, loner types ever see when they’re wrong?” he murmured.

  Behind his back, Ryan flipped his best friend the bird. “Shut up.”

  They joined the others in the family room. Anabelle sat beside Poppy, who held Mason on her lap. Linus had Charlie at his side, who seemed starstruck into a sudden shyness. But the actress wielded her usual charm and soon they were swapping funny stories—Anabelle about her San Francisco honeymoon and then the Walker women about small-town life.

  Anabelle sighed. “I love it up here. I think we need to find a house in Blue Arrow, Grant.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Seating himself on the arm of her chair he glanced over at Ryan. “Fancy us as neighbors?”

  “You like this place? I’ll give you a good deal on it.”

  At his impulsive offer, the room fell quiet.

  Then Poppy was on her feet. “Excuse me.” Taking Mason by the hand, she hurried away, Grimm following.

  Everyone else turned as one toward Ryan, staring at him as if he’d just kicked something small and furry.

  “What?”

  Anabelle rolled her eyes. “Think. If you’re leaping at the chance to get rid of your house...”

  You’re showing Poppy how quickly you also want to get rid of the memories you have of her in it.

  Which was actually the case.

  But, while true to his black, withered heart, was less than she deserved. Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fucking March.”

  “Don’t blame the month, you jerk,” Anabelle said hotly. “Instead, take a look in the mirror.”

  Grant winced. “Babe—”

  “No, she’s right,” Ryan said, pinching tighter. Hell, he wished he could make things better, smoother, simpler between him and Poppy, but since the beginning, and especially since the moment when he ran after her for that farewell kiss, he’d only created complications that tangled them tighter.

  “You know what I think we all need?” Anabelle said after a moment. “Some fresh air. Why don’t we head outside and we’ll break out the goodies Grant and I bought in San Francisco?”

  Her new husband smiled at her. “You’re a brilliant woman.”

  Though Ryan didn’t feel much like fresh air or anything else now that he’d insulted Poppy, he felt obligated to follow the group onto the terrace. He threw himself into a chair while Linus, Charlie, Grant and Anabelle descended the steps to the grass with their mysterious packages bound in butcher paper. Brooding, he watched them without seeing, until Poppy, Mason and Grimm suddenly appeared out of the woods.

  Poppy looked as fresh as she always did, a small breeze tugging bright tendrils of hair from her usual braid so they danced around her exquisite face. Though she didn’t appear any worse for wear, the thought of the blow he’d just delivered made his stomach roil. Tipping back his head, exhaustion rolled over him like a lead blanket. It was as if he hadn’t slept in four years.

  How the hell could he repair things with her if he didn’t have the energy to get out of th
e chair?

  A delighted squeal redirected his attention to the lawn below. Poppy’s son was dancing around a trio of kites spread on the ground. One was in the shape of an airplane, another was an octopus, the third a butterfly. Ryan smiled a little at the kid’s enthusiasm. Maybe Anabelle’s idea was brilliant.

  Except it turned out the assembled crowd had absolutely no idea how to get anything airborne. Charlie seemed to think she had the rudiments down, but all her short runs across the expanse of grass never got a single kite aloft. Grant proved to be equally inexpert, and Ryan was embarrassed for the Hamilton family name when Linus drove the plane on a straight, low flight into the trunk of a tree.

  Good God. Someone had to save the situation.

  He jogged down the terrace steps. “Give that to me,” he said, snagging the octopus and the spool of kite string from Anabelle’s hand.

  Then he stilled a moment, determining the direction of the wind. With it at his back, he held up the kite, feeling the breeze’s first tug. As the octopus hovered in place, he let the line play out and the creature flew higher, then higher. Glancing down, he saw Poppy’s son was at his elbow. “Here, kid,” he said, and handed over the spool.

  “Me?” the boy said.

  “Just hold on to it. You’ll be fine.” Ryan met Linus’s gaze and nodded him over to supervise.

  Grant, following Ryan’s lead, had managed to get the plane into the air. He grinned. “I have my man mojo back!”

  That left only the butterfly. It had a wingspan of six feet and was a rainbow of colors. Using the same simple technique as before, Ryan launched the kite, watching as it rose, bright against the blue, blue sky. The sight dizzied him for a moment, and he blinked rapidly, trying to orient himself. His gaze dropped, and for the first time he noticed how...green the lawn had become. It was almost emerald now, vivid and healthy-looking. He traced it with his gaze, turning to admire how the thick carpet of it met the planters flanking the back steps. More color abounded there: what he remembered as green shoots were now yellow daffodils and pink tulips and some other spring-hued flowers he couldn’t name.

  And freesias. They nodded in the breeze as if acknowledging his notice.

  They were beautiful.

  He spun back, taking in the wide expanse of the lake. It spread before him, dappled with gold discs made by the sun that warmed his face. Taking a fortifying breath, he moved his gaze upward again, to that jewel-hued butterfly hovering above him.

  Something stirred in his chest. He might have worried it was a heart attack, but there was no pain, only...awakening. The crushing exhaustion drained away and new vigor rushed through his bloodstream. He smelled growing things and clean water and they brought to life a seed that had been hiding, dormant, deep inside him.

  As he breathed, he felt that seed begin to grow. Was it contentment? Satisfaction? Or...happiness.

  God. In this moment, it seemed he was happy.

  Surrounded by natural beauty, family, friends, he felt gratitude, too. For the first time in four years, he felt an appreciation for his five senses and the carbon shell that housed them.

  For the first time in four years, Ryan Hamilton was grateful to be alive.

  Afraid the feeling was too fragile to survive, he moved gingerly through the rest of the day. He remained on the periphery of the group, second-by-second assessing if the new energy and new appreciation were dissipating. As the day wore on, however, both stayed steady and strong, rejuvenating him.

  A couple of days of this, he thought, and he’d find the right words to say to Poppy. He could communicate how much she’d meant to him and how sorry he was that it could never be anything more. Never anything in April.

  Lost in thought, he didn’t join in the dinner conversation. He didn’t notice anything about it really, until a charged silence settled around the dining room table. He blinked, then ran his gaze around the now-quiet company.

  “What?” he asked. “What is it?”

  Poppy folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate. “I just told everyone that Mason and I are taking off tomorrow. Mackenzie’s coming for us in the afternoon.”

  He frowned. “But it’s not—”

  “April. I know. But you’ve got your friends here and...”

  And he’d made her feel unwelcome. But he needed more time to make amends for that. More time to get his head together so he could say the exact right thing. “Poppy—”

  “I’ve made up my mind.”

  From the look on her face, he wouldn’t get his chance.

  “But Mommy...”

  Ryan shifted his attention to the kid. Maybe his protest would change her intentions.

  “You said we could have a goodbye party. With cake and everything.”

  Grant perked up. “I like the way Mason thinks.”

  Poppy pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear, looking flustered. “It’s a little custom we have...inventing reasons to have a party.”

  “Please, Mommy,” her son said.

  She hesitated, then gave in with a little sigh. “I suppose.”

  Grant smiled the smile that launched a thousand tabloid covers. “Cake and everything,” he said, his gaze sliding to Ryan. “Like a real celebration.”

  Woo-hoo, Ryan thought, pressing the heel of his hand to his temple. A party to salute her leaving him before he could find a way to make things right. A celebration to commemorate another March he’d royally fucked up.

  * * *

  LATER THAT NIGHT, a mouthwatering scent drew Ryan from his rooms. He was unsurprised to find Poppy in the big kitchen, looking like something edible herself in pale pink pajama pants and matching tank top. The socks on her feet were printed with fat lambs. He leaned one shoulder against the wall, watching as she moved between refrigerator, pantry and counter. Two layers of a cake sat on separate racks while she used a spatula to move butter from its paper wrapping to a metal bowl. Powdered sugar went on top of that, then she stilled, her body language making clear she sensed someone behind her.

  “Ryan.”

  She knew it was him without looking.

  It was like that for him, too, his body aware when she was near. He walked into the room, approaching her from behind as she continued to work with the ingredients on the granite top. A glass measuring cup hit the counter with a sharp crack, and it was the sound of his best intentions fracturing. Sure, he should be keeping his distance because he still didn’t have the words to make things right. But in this moment, like always, he couldn’t stay away.

  “Do you think aliens abducted us from our cabins that first night?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “It could have happened. I read a script with just such a premise. Hapless male and female leads are asleep in their solitary beds when they’re beamed up to the mother ship. The extraterrestrials mess with their chemistry to see if they can stimulate an insatiable attraction.”

  “How does that work out?”

  “Not so good. They unwittingly cause a love triangle when one of the aliens is affected by the mind control they’re using on the humans. Think Men in Black meets Twilight.”

  She stole a glance at him over her shoulder. “Is there a happy ending?”

  “You decide. In an attempt to break up the human pair, the alien part of the triangle destroys the lab equipment that controls the experiment, which in turn causes an explosion that takes out the entire mother ship and all those in it. The next morning, hero and heroine wake up, realize they no longer feel the pull, and return to their pre-abduction, unpaired lives.” When she didn’t comment, he offered his own analysis. “Lame.”

  “I don’t know.” She was stirring the concoction in the bowl. “The alien’s pretty cool. It tried to change things.”

  “You’re right. No status quo for ol’ Scaley.”


  “Ew. That was its name?”

  “How it looked.” He came close enough to peer at what she was blending. “Vanilla frosting?”

  “French buttercream.” Then she shot him a warning look. “Don’t touch.”

  As if there was any choice now. He swooped in a finger, took it to his mouth. Butter and sugar melted on his tongue. “Good. I want more.”

  “Control your insatiable appetite, mister,” she said, sidestepping to move herself and her bowl farther down the counter. “Don’t force me to destroy the mother ship.”

  Bemused, he watched her whip the frosting a few more times, then pick up a new utensil to efficiently begin icing the cake. Had she recast the tale? Putting herself in the role of the extraterrestrial? Maybe so. He’d always seen her as something otherworldly—a flower fairy or a wood nymph.

  That left him as the male human lead...with who as his human counterpart?

  Or...what.

  You seem to think you’re just fine living with no one besides your ghosts and your grief.

  “Here,” she said, sending the bowl on a slide down the counter.

  His hand caught it reflexively.

  “You can have the rest.” She came close enough to present him a wooden spoon.

  She came close enough for him to see how his nearness affected her. As had happened so many times before, a blush infused the fine-pored surface of her face. Her breath quickened and when her gaze lifted to his, her pupils were already dilated.

  His own arousal surged in reaction and he went hard, just like that. To keep her near, he caught her upper arm. She trembled in his hold and her visceral responses made him feel strong and weak and everything in between. “Poppy,” he said, feeling more desperate for her than ever.

  Her gaze shifted from his eyes to his mouth and back again.

  Then he spoke the only words that came to mind. “One last night.”

  In the tense pause that followed, planets collided, worlds went to war, new galaxies formed. His ears were so full of its cacophony, he could only read her lips.