King Stud

by Liv Rancourt

  He leaned in on his elbows as if searching for the joke. “Unit?”

  “Cedars-Sinai Neonatal I.C.U.” She dropped into her professional persona. “Assistant Nurse Manager.”

  He rubbed his lips with the side of his thumb. “Your timeframe should work, and you can always leave someone in charge to finish up after you head back to L.A.” He paused to examine his margarita. “Someone like me.” His expression turned brighter. “At any rate, you’re going to need a place to stay tonight.”

  “I’ll call Maeve.”

  In a room full of people, all she could see was Ryan – his dimples, the hitch in the bridge of his nose, and the way his sideburns faded into a dark shadow suggesting he needed a shave. Braden, her ex-boyfriend, former live-in lover, and intermittent fiancé, was years older and several universes away. He had a quick wit and a good job, and most of their L.A. friends assumed she’d say ‘yes’ when he proposed.

  He dumped her instead.

  She’d had no warning, no sense that things were weird, and as a result she’d spent the last six months trying to figure out what the hell happened. Inside, she had a dead spot where Braden had been, one she hoped would just scar over and go away.

  When she called Maeve, Danielle ducked her head and covered both ears to hear the phone. Maeve’s voicemail picked up, but Danielle didn’t leave a message. She’d turned down the invite to The Pig, and she couldn’t really justify having dinner with Ryan instead. No message meant nothing for Maeve to question later.

  “There’s always Motel 6.” Danielle made a halfhearted effort to stick to the high road.

  “I’ve got a three-bedroom house and my housemate’s out for the night.”

  The crowd noise surged, as if everyone was laughing at her for holding out. Her unabashed female nature was dying to jump right on Ryan’s offer.

  But there was Maeve.

  And the nine-year age difference.

  And the three-month time limit.

  “What about your girlfriend?” Those other things were tiny hurdles compared with Thou Shalt Not Mess With Another Woman’s Man.

  Ryan’s lips curled like he wanted to grin but just couldn’t do it. “Broke up.”

  Tiny? Had she said tiny hurdles?

  Danielle ran both hands over her head, smoothing her grubby ponytail. She was about to take a huge risk, and blood pounded through her tequila-warmed cheeks. “I really need a shower.”

  “I have one of those.” One corner of his mouth lifted, showing a victory dimple.

  “All right, but you have to promise me you won’t ever tell your sister.”

  It must have been the tequila talking.

  His dimples deepened. “Promise.”

  Danielle parked her Mini on a gravel parking strip in front of a boxy split level. Ryan’s big Ford truck was already in the driveway. She got out and pressed the key fob to lock the car, and gulped to slow her speeding heart.

  Ryan climbed out of his truck and pocketed his cell phone. “C’mon. Chubb isn’t home so we’ve got some privacy.”

  “Cool.” Or nervous, depending on who was asking.

  Ryan put his shoulder against the front door and gave it a shove. The entry was about six feet square, with a slate tile floor.

  He hitched his head towards the downhill stairs. “Chubb’s cave is there.” He headed up, taking the stairs two at a time, and glanced back over his shoulder when he got to the top. “Be best if you stuck to the main floor.”

  Danielle made it to the top step but couldn’t go any farther without bumping into Ryan. He had one hand on the railing and his other elbow cocked, and his sly grin dared her to pass.

  “Guest room’s down the hall, and the bathroom’s next door.” Ryan nodded off to the right.

  She didn’t move.

  Neither did he.

  “Um, are you going to charge me a toll?” Because that didn’t sound at all flirtatious. Danielle screwed on a smile, though inside she was wincing. She was just there because she needed a place to crash, and hadn’t meant to lead him on. Seriously.

  He waited another long minute before answering. “Maybe you’ll just owe me one.”

  He stepped aside, and Danielle slid past him into the hall. She opened the first door she came to, but the shabby comforter and pile of hand weights said “guy’s room” so loud and clear she backed right out.

  “Try again,” he said. “It’s next to the bathroom.”

  She found a room with an empty bookcase, an old desktop computer, and a futon bed. She dumped her bag on the futon and headed for the shower, wondering if she should lock the door or secretly hope he’d sneak in.

  Half an hour later, Danielle’s clean hair hung in a mostly-dry curtain down her back, and she’d shaved the important bits. She’d changed into clean jeans and a bulky knit sweater nearly the same shade of green as her eyes. With her I-can-smell-myself problem solved, she still needed to figure out the how-am-I-going-to-keep-my-hands-off-this-guy problem.

  She paused in the kitchen doorway, fingers barely touching the wall, waiting for her fluttering nerves to settle. Ryan sat at the dining room table, a laptop in front of him. The décor was classic ‘90s Colonial-Rental style, which meant a blue and coral color scheme, lots of cabbage roses, and few accessories that hadn’t come from the landlord. As if twenty-something guys would ever hang copper pots on the wall.

  “Did you leave me any hot water?” he said without turning around.

  “You didn’t tell me I had a time limit.”

  “Nah, just messing with you.” He kicked a chair in her direction. “Sit down.”

  A cat jumped up on the chair behind her as she sat, claiming the space before Danielle scooted all the way back. Apparently this was the cat’s chair, although from the proprietary way he surveyed the kitchen, Danielle guessed it was all his. She perched on the edge of the seat, afraid of annoying the feline.

  “You want anything else to drink?” Ryan tipped his beer in her direction.

  She pressed her cheeks, testing for residual margarita buzz. “I’m okay.”

  He took a long pull on the bottle and closed the laptop. “I’m off work tomorrow. I could come by your grandmother’s house in the daylight and take a better look.”

  The intensity in his eyes had her swallowing hard. “That’d be great.”

  “Do you want to watch a movie or something? TV’s downstairs.”

  “Sure.” But only if he picked something G-rated. Watching on-screen romance might just send her leaping into his lap.

  “Throw Barnabas on the floor, babe. You look like you’re going to fall off that chair.”

  The cat picked that moment to plant a paw on the small of Danielle’s back. One claw went through her sweater and dug into her skin. She jumped to her feet, hands flying. “What the hell?”

  Ryan jumped up too and swatted at Barnabas. “Git, cat.”

  Barnabas jumped, squalled, and sprinted across the room.

  Danielle and Ryan ended up facing each other about arm’s length apart.

  “The cat…”

  “My roommate’s.” His gaze intent, focused, he touched her sleeve.

  The room heated up, or possibly her blood was boiling from the friction between them. Her field of vision narrowed to the late-day scruff framing his mouth, and the full curve of his lower lip.

  He lowered his hand to hers, interlacing their fingers.

  She didn’t stop him. She curled her hand around his and her eyes slid half closed.

  “C’mere.” Ryan tugged, and instead of backing away, she rocked forward, drawn to him by physics or hormones or old-fashioned need.

  “Damned cat hates me,” she said, relishing his musky scent.

  His free hand reached up strong and sure to cup her jaw. “Well, I like you,” he whispered.

  His kiss was gentle, testing the water, giving her space to push away. He tasted malty and masculine, a flavor that could very well become an addiction. He moved closer, and then both his han
ds wrapped around her waist and she stretched full against him.

  All of her reasons for stopping ran through her head on a continuous loop: Maeve and age and L.A. and Cherry, Maeve and age and L.A. and Cherry. He drew back so their lips were barely touching, and the scent of him and the warmth of his breath and the melting heat at the core of her body scattered those reasons like a flock of startled birds.

  They left her sweater on a dining room chair and his sweatshirt somewhere in the living room. In the hall, he reached for the lacy hem of her cotton tank top. She gripped his wrist before he could pull it off, too.

  “Wait. No.” He eased back and Danielle fell against the wall. “Sorry.”

  “’S’all right. I’ve wanted to kiss Dani Jacobsen since I was a kid.” He flashed a dimple. “I’m already ahead of the game.”

  She covered her mouth with her hands, to hide both her surprise and her ridiculous smile. “No way.”

  “Way.” He dove in for round two, nipping and nudging her hands until she moved them and he could reach her lips.

  The kiss went on until she lost track of time, but he kept hold of her arms and shoulders and there was almost a Bible’s worth of space between their bodies. Her rational mind appreciated his restraint. The rest of her wanted to claw his clothes off.

  “You know how good you feel, right?” she said.

  He worked his way down the side of her neck, his lips and tongue tasting, teasing, drawing out a gasp that was almost a whimper.

  “About as good as you do,” he murmured against her skin, gruff and sexy.

  She pulled him up to look him in the eye. “No, I mean it. I want…”

  More than just rebound sex.

  “Me too,” he said. He pulled her hand close to his mouth, dragging the bristles of his five o’clock shadow across the sensitive skin of her palm. She cupped her fingers to receive his kiss.

  “But we really shouldn’t.”

  “Because of Maeve.”

  She tapped his chest with her index finger. “Because I’m only in town for a couple months and I’m nine years older than you and…” She grabbed a breath, then plowed on. “And I need help with my house and if we have sex and end up hating each other it’ll be awkward.” There’s also Maeve and Braden, but who’s keeping count?

  “Last time I checked I was above the age of consent, which means the only reason you’re turning me down is a house.” He stretched his hands along her ribs, pulling her closer.

  His math wasn’t any better than hers. “I’ve done stupider things.” She slid her fingers under his to loosen his grip. “I just can’t think of any right now.”

  In hindsight she recognized the cliché: couples who know they’ve found the right person after talking all night. They had, and she knew.

  They lay on his bed side by side, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her waist. Under the covers. Mostly dressed.

  She told him things she didn’t usually talk about, like how her mother had gone to San Francisco in 1978 and come home with a daughter named Danielle, how her grandmother had done more to raise her than anyone else, and how jealous she’d always been of Maeve’s houseful of family.

  She listened to his stories too, about his certificate in construction management, his goal to learn everything he could about home remodeling, then run his own company. About how lies and game-playing drove him crazy. And about Cherry. Way too much about Cherry.

  “If you don’t mind my saying so.” Danielle interrupted a long-winded soliloquy. “You might have ended it, but something tells me you still need to let go.”

  He got real quiet. He pressed his lips against the top of her head, his exhale tickling a few strands of hair across her brow.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  She followed his retreat with her gaze, wondering if her flash of insight had cut too deep. Either he’d gone to the bathroom or he was heading out to his truck, but she didn’t hear the front door slam.

  A few minutes later he came back, laughing to himself. “Princess, my balls are so blue I’ma be walking with a limp for a week.”

  “Shoulda taken a cold shower while you were out there.”

  He stood by the bed and stared down at her, his expression gentle. “Shoulda done a lot of things different.”

  He crawled back under the covers and she curled up next to him. They both drifted off, only to have the persistent buzz of Ryan’s cell phone wake them up about fifteen minutes later.

  “Huh?” Ryan said before Danielle even had her eyes open. “Shit. What time is it?”

  Danielle propped herself up on one elbow. “What’s going on?”

  “Shh.” He placed a finger over her lips and turned back to the phone. “Shut up, Maeve. None of your business if there’s someone here.”

  After another short pause, he swiped the cell to disconnect the call, mumbling a variety of very dirty words. “Cherry got pretty hammered last night, and now she’s on her way over to…” The groove between his brows undermined his weak smile. “I don’t know what.”

  Panic shook off the muzzy sleepiness in Danielle’s head. She scuttled around and got her knees under her, wishing she had something more substantial on than a flimsy cotton tee shirt. “Why? It’s like six in the morning.”

  “Make that nine.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Guess we fell asleep.”

  The front door banged open, and footsteps pounded up the stairs.

  “Christ.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Ryan?” The voice was halfway between a screech and a yelp. “What the fuck? Whose Mini Cooper is parked out front?”

  Danielle’s only moving part was the heart slamming blood through her veins. She was about to meet the semi-ex-girlfriend in the most awkward way imaginable. Her muscles locked in a war between diving under the covers and diving out the window.

  “Ryan!” Cherry was way too close to the bedroom.

  Ryan jumped out of bed, tearing through the room in about two steps and slamming the door behind him.

  “Get out of my house.” Rage laced his tone like flames licking the surface of a dry pine branch. “Give me my fucking key and get out.”

  “You do have company.” One of them hit the bedroom door. “Come on out, honey. Ryan’s girlfriend wants to meet ya.”

  “Give me her sweater and leave, Cherry. I mean it.”

  “This sweater? What is it…Anthropologie? Good choice.”

  “Cherry.” That one word was so dense, so heavy with anger, it dragged Danielle out of bed. He’d loaded Cherry’s name with the impact of a blow, and for a crazy second Danielle was scared he’d follow it up with his fist.

  “Fuck you, Ryan O’Connor.”

  Danielle gripped the doorjamb, white-tipped fingers digging into the wood.

  “Just gimme the key and go.”

  Footsteps moved off, steady at first, then a stumble and a body thumping against the wall. “Ow, shit.”

  “Wait a minute.” His voice blasted through the bedroom door and the handle turned.

  “This is not over.” Footsteps on the stairs. Sobbing. The front door banged shut.

  Danielle backed up until her calves hit the bed and she sat down hard. What could you say after something like that? She didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or relieved. A window escape started looking like the better alternative.

  “Damn it. She’s too drunk to drive.” Heavy, rapid footsteps pounded down the stairs. “I’ll be back, Dani.”

  The front door slammed shut a second time. Danielle stepped out of the bedroom. Her sweater lay on the carpet in a heap, alongside a house key.

  More yelling came from the front yard. A car door slammed. An engine started, echoed by the heavier rumble of a Ford F250 truck.

  It took about two minutes for Danielle to gather her things and get out the door. It took a lot longer than that for the shock to wear off.

  Chapter Three

  The weather finally caught up
with the calendar, and Tuesday afternoon Ryan drove across town in a steady downpour. It was almost dark when he pulled his truck into Danielle’s driveway. Under the glow of his headlights, her little car all but waggled its fingers at him. Sporty and flirty and fun, a Mini Cooper’s driver would never be accused of taking themselves too seriously.

  He slammed the truck’s door. Chasing after Cherry hadn’t given Dani much reason to take him seriously either. At least she still wanted him to work on the house. The light was on so Ryan knocked once, then let himself in.

  The house smelled smoky and the hearth was all wet, ringed with a rolled up log of soggy towels. Dani sat at the big cherry wood dining table, wearing her parka and a pair of gloves, arms crossed, chin down, gaze directed at a diagram on her laptop screen. File folders and paper, pens, and an oversized calculator surrounded her.

  “We just got the paging operators on board with the new language. We can’t change it.” A woman’s voice came from the computer in a very cultured version of pissed off.

  “But if the pediatricians can’t figure out what you want them to do,” a man said with a subtle Southern drawl, “they’ll keep on missing deliveries.”

  The combination of a sharp exhale and a tiny shake of Dani’s head pretty much defined frustration. Ryan rounded the other side of the table, catching her eye as he passed behind the laptop.

  “Conference call,” she mouthed.

  Ryan jerked a thumb at the living room. “What the hell happened here?” he said, barely above a whisper.

  “Don’t ask.” She murmured in response.

  “Did you have something to add, Danielle?”

  Whoever the woman was, she sure had her bitch voice on, and Danielle straightened up like she’d been caught napping. “No, Sharon, I’m sorry, my … uh … contractor just came in.”

  “Oh good. Are you making progress, then?” Like flipping a switch, the woman came across as friendly and warm.

  “So far so good. The electrician started this morning and the plumber comes next week.”

  Ryan traced the laptop’s cord to a power strip, and from there to a ground adaptor connecting the power strip to the wall socket. Not a perfect set-up, but with a bit of luck, his buddy Dan would keep the electrical panel from catching fire.