by Liv Rancourt
He didn’t have to act that hard.
Twenty minutes to get from Perkins Lane to his North Seattle house. Almost an hour to shower and shave. Closer to thirty minutes to wrestle the surface-street traffic to Maeve’s apartment. Three times around the block to score a parking spot on the street.
Several lifetimes waiting for her to come out.
He sent her a text, letting her know he was outside. No response. The brake lights came on in the car ahead of him, splashing his dashboard with red. He scanned his phone. Nothing. He locked his eyes back on the main entrance to her apartment.
What if she’d gotten into it with Maeve?
What if someone made her a better offer?
He never wasted much time with doubt, but in reality, he was a carpenter. Why would someone like Dani —older, more educated, and professional — want to go out with him? His house didn’t have anything close to a view of the Mulholland Canyon.
His own insecurity threatened to turn the heat in his belly from anticipation into anger.
Then she pushed the door open, looking around eagerly, her smile huge when she saw him. Yeah, there was no good answer for why. It only mattered that she was headed for his truck and they were going to get dinner. She’d talk, he’d listen, and then they’d see what they’d see.
They had dinner at a funky pizzeria surrounded by college kids and Sounders fans. Danielle had hoped she and Ryan would share enough of themselves to come to a decision. Either they were going to act on their impulses or they were going to focus on the remodel. Instead, they ate pizza and talked about random stuff, apparently content to continue in a netherworld of unsatisfied desire.
Afterward, Danielle huddled in her jacket, waiting for the truck’s heater, shivering from a combination of nerves, excitement, and a full belly.
“I’m thinking we should head over to Gassworks,” Ryan said. He started up the engine and put the truck in gear.
“I haven’t been there in years.”
“It’s close.” He eased the truck out of their parking spot. “It’s dark.” He paused at the edge of the lot before pulling into traffic. “And it’s pretty.”
“Pretty.”
“Like you.”
Danielle let her twisted lips rebut his opinion, but Ryan’s laugh both squashed her denial and layered on another compliment. His proximity sharpened her need to touch, creating a raw prickling in the palms of her hands, and the steady pulse of an old Rolling Stones tune on the stereo only reinforced her instincts.
They made the trip to Gassworks Park in about fifteen minutes and ended up surrounded on all sides by city lights. Downtown was ahead of them, Capitol Hill on their left, and Queen Ann on the right. Ryan found a parking spot, shut everything down, and opened his door.
“We’re getting out?” Danielle’s voice squeaked. The cab of the truck had warmed up nicely, but outside it was somewhere in the thirty-degree range, and intermittently spitting rain.
“I thought we could walk down to the water.”
Scrambling out of the truck, Danielle stuffed her hands in her pockets and wished for either a heavier coat or a stronger cocktail, something that would take the edge off the chill. “We’re the only people here.”
“I know we’re the only people here.” Ryan took a loose hold of her hand and led her through the darkness in the general direction of the water. “That’s the idea.”
He tugged her along, keeping more or less to the path circling the old industrial plant that gave the park its name, a hulking Steampunk fantasy of metal pipes and silos that made a dark black silhouette against the night sky.
The third time Danielle stumbled, she whipped out her cell phone and turned on the flashlight. Walking — and her proximity to Ryan — had warmed her up enough to be curious about what he was up to. “The park is probably closed.”
“Yeah, so you should turn that flashlight off before someone sees it.” He goosed her ribs.
“Hey now.” She scooted away from him. “Don’t mess with me.”
His grasp non-negotiable, he drew her against his body. “But I want to mess with you.”
This. This closeness, this gentle embrace eased the tension tying up her breath since they’d kissed the night before. She tucked her head under his chin, his aftershave a warm, spicy top-note to the cold earth smell from the field of grass under their feet. The city lights surrounded them, as if they were standing at the bottom of a bowl full of stars.
“You’re not even going to try to stop me?” he asked.
“Don’t want to.”
So they’d made a decision after all.
Their bodies were separated by bulky jackets and gloves so Danielle couldn’t give him a true demonstration of what was on her mind. She cupped his chin with her hands and stood up on tiptoe to kiss him.
He went off like a bottle rocket, all heat and raw hunger. He clasped her head, claimed her mouth, and used his lips and tongue to give her a lesson in need.
Danielle met him with a flare of her own. She opened up and drew him deeper. His growl rumbled against her chest and she clutched the collar of his coat, clinging to the only source of heat in the frigid night. He tasted malty from the beer they’d shared over dinner, though that observation was filtered through the prism of bruising kisses and the thrust of his swelling cock against her thigh.
He folded over her, licking and nipping and sucking a fevered trail down her neck.
She gasped, giggled, and gasped again. “Are we going to do it in the dark in the park?”
“With a guy named Clark,” Ryan murmured, his warm breath teasing her ear.
“Shut up.” She laced her fingers through his hair, getting enough of a grip to pull him up so they could talk. Her nose was numb and her toes were colder. “Seriously. What are your intentions, young man?”
“The best.” He pulled her tighter against his body. “Let’s go back to my house.”
Reservations snuck through, despite the fever heat between them, his clean soap smell, and the generous strength in his arms. “Wait a minute. What kind of woman do you think I am?”
Stepping back, he held her cheeks with his palms and rocked his head gently from side to side. “Dani, Dani, Dani,” he said, his voice just louder than a whisper. “Why we gotta make things so hard?”
Irritation pinged her like glass shattering on concrete. She brought her hands up hard between his, to fling herself out of his grasp. “Because it is hard, you condescending little twerp.”
At his shocked expression, she covered her mouth with her hands to stifle the laughter, but it didn’t work. Soon they were both laughing, then Ryan’s hands were on her shoulders, and then she folded back into him. “Let’s go back to the truck, at least,” she said through a wave of shivers.
Without giving him time to argue, she pivoted and headed back up the path. After a second, he strode up beside her and put his arm around her. They fell in step, the streetlights lining the parking lot giving them enough light to go on.
Ryan barely let her get her car door shut before he cupped her jaw with one hand and leaned close. Their lips brushed together, once, twice in light touches, as if there was still an invisible barrier they needed to tear down. Then his grip on her tightened and his lips closed in, hungry, demanding a response. She wove her fingers through his damp curls, shifting her weight so she was on the edge of her seat and her knees dug into his thigh.
He reached around, sliding his hand up under her jacket, gripping her thigh, the tips of his fingers hitting the crease between leg and butt. Desire and restraint went to war, and a shiver that had nothing to do with cold started in her chest and coalesced a lot lower down. If he tugged at all she’d end up straddling him, her back smashed against the steering wheel and her lady parts…
There wasn’t a lot of space between the wheel and his lap.
Their kisses made a rhythmic wave, light grazing flutters alternating with deep, soul-shearing strokes. She opened herself to him, setting free he
r own wild energy, bringing a groan from the depths of his chest. She reached out and found the bulge in his groin, its heat matching the lava pooling between her legs. She massaged him through his jeans, frustrated by the layers of heavy clothes and the distance between them.
Suddenly that space between his lap and the steering wheel didn’t look so narrow.
She nuzzled the rough whiskers under his chin. He thumbed her nipple through her velvet shirt, his other hand cupping her ass. With every slight shift of her body against his, he brought his fingertips closer to her sweet center, and she stroked him more firmly.
He left her mouth, running the tip of his tongue along the line of her jaw and settling behind her ear. The shivering started again and this time she rocked forward, severely tempted to straddle him. The fire in her veins burned away most of her reservations. When she accidentally on purpose popped open one of the buttons in his fly, he froze.
“You seriously want to do this in the truck?” He hissed, a sharp intake of breath.
“Oh crap.” She fumbled with the button, doing it back up. “No. I’m sorry. I’m losing my mind.”
“Be better in a bed.” He reached for her hand, bringing her fingers to his lips and kissing each one.
The burn inside faded, dampened by their predicament and by the icy rain crackling against the windshield, echoing the static energy between them. Instead of responding, she found one of his hands and brought it to her own mouth, taking care to give each of his blunt and calloused fingertips individual attention, teasing with the tip of her tongue, sucking gently on his thumb until he moaned.
“Shit. We’re going back to my house.”
The reality of it dumped over her like ice water. “We can’t.”
“Why not?” Surprise rattled through his words. “We just turn the engine on and drive.”
Telling him she didn’t want to sleep with him now because someday she’d turn forty and he’d only be thirty-one was dumb. Reminding him she had to be in L.A. in six weeks wouldn’t help much, either. Danielle massaged her temples, wondering how much of her reluctance was valid and how much was based in fear because her ex was an asshole.
In the end, she played the Maeve card. “Let me talk to your sister first.” She met his disbelieving gaze as squarely as she could. “I feel weird sleeping with you until I do.”
Ryan had the engine running before she was all the way back in her seat, and when he spoke his words were clipped, tight. “Seems like you felt fine about it ten minutes ago.”
“I’m a flake. I know.” She put a hand on the side of his face, forcing him to look at her. “A flake. A horny flake, and you make me do crazy things.” She bit her bottom lip, wondering what she needed to say to make things okay. “I want you so bad I’m seeing sideways, but my gut’s telling me to wait.”
“Your gut, huh?” He bounced his head against the seat a couple times. “Sideways, huh?” His mouth softened.
“I’ll make it up to you.”
He reached down and grasped himself. “You will, too.”
“Promise.”
By the time he dropped her off at Maeve’s apartment, his smile was almost normal. Good thing, too, because mixing sex into the house project was a huge gamble. More importantly, she knew from as deep as her bones and her blood that with Ryan, it wouldn’t be just sex.
Chapter Ten
Danielle leaned against one of the only blank stretches of wall, tucked between a pair of antique display cabinets loaded with lacy lingerie. “Why would a man who tossed me out like yesterday’s tuna suddenly call and wish me a merry Christmas?”
Maeve stopped pawing through a rack of velvet shirts and swirling silky skirts. “He called because he wants something.” She raised both eyebrows, adding an eloquent duh to her comment, before holding the sleeve of a deep green blouse against her chest. “He’s a guy, right?”
“Oh yeah.” Danielle scooted a pair of pink panties into line with its mates. “Right.”
It had taken her a while, but Danielle finally listened to the voicemail Braden left. And listened to it. Three times. Each replay fed her growing sense of “WTF?!” He’d told her how much he missed her, and how he hoped she was having a fantastic time in Seattle.
‘Fantastic’ was one of his three favorite words.
“Don’t ask stupid questions if you don’t want obvious answers.” Maeve stuck the shirt back on the rack and grabbed a long black skirt, whirling it around until the fabric fluttered in a circle. “Why am I even looking at this hippie shit? I’d go mental trying to wear this much fabric.”
“You’re the one who wanted to stop here,” Danielle said. She didn’t want to spend money on new, expensive clothes, the kind found in hip little boutiques in funky shopping districts. They’d gone that route for her date with Christopher, and she had a fur vest to show for it, a trophy she’d likely never wear again.
“Cherry said I should check it out.” Maeve moved from the pool of light over the freestanding rack of clothes to a second pool of light over a rack against the far wall.
Danielle drew a couple quick breaths, steadying herself. Talking about Cherry was only a couple steps from talking about Ryan, and Danielle needed to bring him up, to let Maeve know that things were changing. Things had changed. The cat was on its way out and wanted to toss the bag. “Nordstrom’s let her shop in a place like this?”
“She has to bury the receipts in her back yard.” Maeve shifted her weight, easing back into the shadow. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.” She moved toward the front of the store.
Danielle followed as far as one of the overhead spotlights. “Wait, I mean, has she said anything about Ryan?”
Possibly the least-graceful segue ever.
The glare from overhead made it hard to read Maeve’s expression, but Danielle was determined to keep going until they’d sorted things out. Or until she’d laid some groundwork, at least. Right now Maeve was a cornerstone in her sense of security, and Danielle needed her support for the idea of letting Ryan in on the ground floor.
“Why?” Maeve’s pinched-lip expression made it clear she really, really didn’t want to talk about Ryan.
“Nothing.” Danielle wrapped her pashmina scarf tighter. Your brother and I…
Maeve shifted her weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed, shields up, waiting.
Danielle’s lips locked. She mashed her thumbs into her temples, frustration spinning tight little circles in her head.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Maeve said.
Deep breath. Not giving up. “Next door looked interesting,” Danielle said, referring to a place with the kind of Christmas presents you could give a guy, where she could pick up a pair of nice leather gloves or a sleek new wallet and when Maeve asked if it was for Christopher, Danielle could say, no it’s for Ryan.
Maeve batted at the nearest rack of clothes and stepped out under a spotlight. “Eh, I think it’s time for a cocktail.”
Danielle squeezed the heck out of her inner chicken. “I’d like to pick up a couple Christmas presents first.”
Maeve paused halfway to the front door, giving her a sneer that dared Danielle to say Ryan’s name. “For who?”
“Well, there’s Uncle Jonathan,” and Ryan, “and my cousin,” and Ryan, “and I thought I’d bring something to your mother for inviting me over.” And Ryan.
“What about Christopher? I bet he’d like a nice bottle of wine or something.” Maeve’s comment was as much of a dare as anything else, a test to see if Danielle would really go there.
Fail. “Yeah.”
“Come on,” Maeve said, her tone infused with relief. “There’s a wine bar across the street that sells bottles. Two birds with one swoop, and all.”
Following Maeve out into the rain, Danielle gritted her teeth. If she could handle an ornery attending physician and talk a staff nurse off the ledge, she ought to be able to handle Maeve. Say something. She avoided a huge puddle by an inch. Now. Her smile stre
tched out. Do it.
She did something, all right. She followed Maeve to the wine bar. Unfortunately — or not — she couldn’t find a bottle for Christopher.
The O’Connor family tradition called for a party on Christmas Eve, an event attended by relatives and friends and people off the street, judging by the size of the crowd squashed into Vickie O’Connor’s living room. Danielle wore a black jersey wrap top and a green satin skirt she’d brought out special for the holiday. Leftover from L.A., it was shorter and tighter than most of her Seattle clothes. Maeve almost approved.
Her new shoes deserved no one’s approval. They were sky high, with toes pointed as sharp as the heels. They felt like guilt and deserved a quick trip to the Salvation Army donation box — if she survived wearing them.
Ryan liked them just fine.
In fact, he intercepted Danielle almost as soon as she came through his mother’s front door. Maeve sailed on ahead, a gust of rowdy wind aiming for a back bedroom to drop off her coat, open to stirring up trouble along the way.
“Hey, boss,” Ryan said, giving Danielle a once-over that started and stopped with her shoes and left a wash of heat all over her body.
“Boss?” She tried to reign in her smile, afraid of blinding him with her big front teeth.
“I’m working for you, aren’t I? And you are seriously working that outfit.” He said the last bit just loud enough for her to hear.
She fought the impulse to drape herself against him and hang on. Instead, she laughed and batted at his arm, the way a grade school kid would sneak a touch without being obvious about it. The house smelled appropriately Christmas-y, all warm pine trees, roasting meat, and spiced cider.
Vickie elbowed her son out of the way and wrapped Danielle in a hug. Her silver hair curled around her face and her manicure was a bright Christmas red, as warm and cheerful as the angel statues decorating every flat surface in the room. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”
