King Stud

by Liv Rancourt

  And strength. Not just the kind that comes from the gym.

  Danielle closed her eyes, not willing to believe Ryan was there, offering to help. This had to be some sick delusion brought on by stress and the stink of rotten food.

  There were footsteps, the warm brush of his presence bypassing her, and his silhouette kneeling in front of the fireplace. An “ah shit” almost too quiet to hear.

  Danielle couldn’t respond. Ryan turned to Mr. Goatee. “I’ve been working here part-time, and if Dani’s okay with it, I’ll pull the molding down and disassemble the built-ins, see what can be salvaged.”

  “Danielle?” Mr. Goatee asked.

  Danielle nodded, a creaky jerk, and managed to rasp out the word “yes”.

  “Okay, I’ll start my guys on pulling up the floor,” Mr. Goatee said.

  “I’ll go get my tools.”

  She turned in time to see Ryan’s shadow pass through the door. Everyone seemed to have a job except for her, and she desperately needed to pull her head together. He looked thin and hard, like he’d lost some weight, and his loose curls were sloppier than normal. She went upstairs for some private time, sat on her soggy air mattress, and forced herself not to overreact.

  She’d still lied. He’d still left.

  She’d somehow have to keep her hands in her pockets whenever he was around.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Driving over to Magnolia, Ryan figured he better be ready for anything. Still, the damage to the house hit him like a shot to the kidney. Cheap. Painful. Potentially disabling.

  He showed up just in time to hear a guy from ServPro tell her they’d need to trash all the trim in the living room. She’d had her back to the doorway, but Ryan could read the tension in her shoulders as easy as the raw edge to her voice.

  He’d practically run out of there to get his tools, because otherwise he would have ambushed her with a full-body lock.

  He started with the chair rail molding, strips of mahogany circling the room about hip-level. It was in pretty good shape, so after laying down a heavy drop cloth, he stacked the strips on the cherry wood table. Prying eighty-year-old nails out of solid hardwood chewed up his fingers, and at times he had to step between the floor joists, because the ServPro crew was pulling up the floor. It didn’t take long, though, before they laid down some plywood and promised to return in the morning.

  Ryan kept working.

  The house got real quiet, save for the soft pulse of the waves out back. Ryan’s fingers were numb enough that scrabbling with ornery wood and nails no longer bothered him. He got down on hands and knees to pull up the baseboards, noting the soft squeak of footsteps overhead. Those footsteps came down the stairs, and he sat back on his heels.

  Dani cleared her throat. “So, um, I guess this is where we—”

  “Don’t.” A bead of blood welled up on one of Ryan’s knuckles and he took a second to suck it off before he continued. Being near her was like sitting an inch too close to an open fire; uncomfortable and threatening serious pain. “It’ll probably take me until tomorrow to get the rest of this taken care of. Once it’s all pulled down, I’ll be able to figure out if I can save any of it.” He might have made the first move, but he wasn’t ready to for the conversation she wanted to have.

  She kept quiet, and he caved in to his need and shifted around to face her.

  “The baseboard’s pretty waterlogged.” He went on like she wasn’t staring holes through his heart. “I’ll let it dry out, but we might need to chuck it.”

  “Okay.” She raised a hand, palm out. “Right. Just let me know what you think … about the trim, I mean.”

  “Sure.” He reached for his crow bar. “I told my boss I’d be out here at least a week, but you’ve got ServPro here already, so maybe you don’t need—”

  “No, I mean … yes.” She pressed her fingertips into her forehead. “Please. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing out here.”

  The crack in her voice found an answering weakness in his defenses. He stood slowly, groaning at the creak in his knees. “What do you mean, Dani? You’re doing great.”

  She took a step back and flapped her hands like she didn’t quite know what to do with them. “Yeah, sure, I’ve got it.” A hunk of hair slipped out of her ponytail. She tossed her head to get it out of her face. “Listen, it’s, like, seven o’clock, and you’ve been working all day. You should take off.”

  “Right.” He funneled all his self-discipline into staying put and not following her across the floor. “Looks like your Mini’s pretty messed up. You need a ride somewhere?”

  “I can call my uncle.”

  He tossed the crowbar in the direction of his toolbox. “C’mon. I’ll give you a ride home, at least.”

  She gave him a brittle smile, and in a few minutes they took off for the coldest, quietest, longest one mile drive of his life.

  The next morning Robert brought Danielle and her latte down to the house. The ServPro crew was already pulling down the old lathe and plaster walls in the living room, their matching uniforms still mostly clean. Danielle expected to do a meet-and-greet with the plumber and the electrician, and if she was lucky, Christopher’s landscaper friend was going to show up with a backhoe. She had a source of caffeine and a list to work from, and even Ryan’s arrival wouldn’t mess her up.

  Until he walked through the door, hair damp from the shower, sideburns kind of raggedy, and with enough of a smile to show off his dimples.

  She gulped like some kind of bad seventies sit-com actress. “Um, hi.”

  “Figured these guys would beat me here.” Ryan shook hands with Mr. Goatee. “I’ll pull out those built-ins as fast as I can.”

  “Take your time. We’ll work around you.” The guy headed for the basement, and with a quick nod at Danielle, Ryan carried his tool box to the fireplace.

  She made a lame attempt at rubbing out the tension in her neck and went to the kitchen, where horrors awaited. A couple of the ServPro guys had emptied out the refrigerator and freezer, but it still stunk like the nastiest part of a landfill. Danielle figured she’s scrub it out with bleach, then cover the insides with a baking soda paste to see if she could get rid of the smell.

  She was still at it a couple hours later when Ryan called her name.

  “What?” she said.

  “Your uncle just pulled in.”

  She wiped her reddened hands on an old towel and went into the living room. Her uncle’s Mercedes was parked behind Ryan’s truck in the driveway. Uncle Jonathan got out.

  Mom climbed out the other side.

  Danielle dropped the towel. She couldn’t feel it anymore. Hell, she couldn’t feel her fingers anymore. The whole flight-or-fight response took over, jacking her heartrate to the moon and pulling every bit of extraneous blood to her body’s core. Her capacity for trouble officially overran its banks, leaving her standing up to her knees in shit. Somewhere a higher power had to be laughing.

  Danielle pretty much didn’t get the joke.

  Her mother’s hair framed her face with blowsy bleach-blonde curls, and she wore an honest to God fur coat and dark brown boots with three inch spike heels. Because that’s how we dress for a disaster.

  Danielle’s thirty-three year old self engaged in a brief and bitter fight with her inner child over whether they should greet Mom or not. Oh for pity’s sake. Her adult self won. Danielle brushed her grubby hands on her dirtier jeans and went to the door.

  The fur coat padding deflected any actual physical contact, but their awkward shoulder-clutching hug made Danielle wince.

  “You’re making progress,” Uncle Jonathan said, giving her an apologetic side-arm squeeze. “When she heard about the slide, your mother booked a flight, didn’t you, Patricia?”

  “Obviously.” Mom’s gaze stopped on each element of the trashed living room – the torn-up walls, the plywood floor, the partly-disassembled bookcases around the fireplace. “You were right, Jonathan. This view from down here is stunning.
I’d forgotten.”

  Nice one, Mom. Despite her stress level, Danielle kept her sarcasm to herself. “Before the slide, we had the main floor pretty much fixed up. It’s a mess now, but the upstairs is in okay shape.” She bit down on the tip of her tongue to shut off the babbling. She was caught in a real-life version of one of those embarrassment dreams, the kind where her skirt flew up and all the boys could see her panties. Embarrassment wasn’t the right word. More like failure. Failure to rebuild. Failure to properly honor her grandmother’s memory. Failure to be the kind of daughter her mother could love.

  The gauge on her emotional gas tank flipped over toward zero, and she was grateful when a new roar came from the yard. Danielle ducked out in time to see a backhoe start in on the mud in her front yard. She ran out to talk to the guy, and by the time she returned, Ryan was giving her mother a tour. She tagged along, making a point of showing off Ryan’s work.

  He went back to it and the rest of them ended up in the dining room around the cherry wood table, glaring at each other over the piles of mahogany molding. Her mother drilled Danielle with a million questions before finishing off with the big one. “And you’re still planning to sell?”

  Danielle kept her gaze on her uncle. Watching Mom was too hard, and watching Ryan was impossible. “Not anymore.” She stopped, surprised. She poked at the decision. It felt seamless, true. “I think I’m going to stay in Seattle, at least until the house is done.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mom said, completely ruffled. “You can’t give up that good job, can you?”

  Irritation did a whipcord swipe through Danielle’s gut, and she stuffed her fists deeper into the pockets of her coat. Even if Mom did want her to stay in Seattle, she just couldn’t go along with one of Danielle’s decisions. Her crazy consistency would probably make Danielle laugh, like, when she was warm and dry and had had a cocktail. Right now though, it made her want to smack something. Even Uncle Jonathan looked at his sister like she’d come down from Mars.

  “I’m a nurse. I’ll find another job.” Standing still allowed the sweat to dry. Danielle’s teeth chattered, either from the cold or the smell or her frustration with her mother.

  “Of course you will.” Uncle Jonathan reached over and grasped Danielle’s forearm. “I think it’s marvelous.”

  Uncle Jonathan’s attention veered to something over Danielle’s shoulder. “I’ll email my boss tonight,” she said, pausing to glance at whatever distracted him.

  Ryan stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, his expression so cagey she almost changed her mind.

  “Well, Ryan,” her uncle said. “How long do you think it’ll take to get this place ready for Dani to move in?”

  Ryan jerked a glance at Danielle, expressionless. “Move in?”

  “Well, it’s her house,” Mom said, hands folded on the table in front of her. “Leaving it to Danielle was Mother’s way of punishing me.”

  Danielle stifled a groan. No way she had the bandwidth to throw a pity party for Mom.

  Her uncle stepped in to rescue her. “That’s not fair.”

  “But it’s true,” Mom snapped. “I wouldn’t live my life on her terms, so this is my reward.”

  Danielle blinked to cover her spontaneous eye roll. Nice irony, Mom.

  “Now, Patricia.” Uncle Jonathan put some starch in his tone and locked her mother in a steely gaze. She looked away first, and with a satisfied smirk he rattled on about Danielle’s impending move, extrapolating ideas out of thin air. Ryan kept looking a question at her, even as he eased his way closer to her side.

  He ended up propped next to her, fists on the tabletop. The breadth of his shoulders and his mix of clean sweat and soap scent drove most rational thoughts to the back of her mind.

  Finally her uncle took pity on her. “We’ll see you later,” he said, one arm around Mom to steer her out the door.

  “Yeah.” Danielle didn’t quite manage to make any sound, as if making a noise might chase Ryan away.

  The car doors’ slam carried over the grind of the backhoe, the guys working in the living room, the fans in the basement.

  “That coat makes your mother look like she’s dressed for a date with Chewbacca,” Ryan said.

  “If Mom’s a Wookie, does that make me an Ewok?”

  Ryan gave her ponytail a gentle yank. “Yep.” His voice was husky, soft, restrained. “You’re the little cute one.”

  “Shut up.” Now that it was just the two of them, Danielle’s body pretty much turned to jelly. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered, reaching up with wrap her fingers around his wrist. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Their hands shifted ‘til their fingers intertwined and they stood quietly. From the other room, Mr. Goatee called Danielle’s name.

  She blew through a shuddering exhale. “I better go see what he wants.”

  “And I better get those bookcases pulled apart.”

  Danielle stood, and though the natural progression of things might indicate it was time for them to get closer, she held off.

  Ryan squeezed her hand. “Yeah, if I kiss you now, we’re gonna give those ServPro dudes a show.”

  Her cheek muscles tightened, as close to a smile as she could get given the range of feelings racing through her. Relief buoyed by happiness chased away fear, pain, and sadness. “A show.”

  “But you could come home with me tonight.”

  His words held so many kinds of promise Danielle almost melted on the floor. “Yes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Over the course of the day, the icy restraint binding them faded away, and by sunset, Ryan knew three things. Dani was in the front cab of his truck, he had to grip the steering wheel hard to keep his hands off her, and his cock was ready to go off like a jackhammer. The combination made for some pretty tough driving.

  At the last red light before leaving Magnolia, she wordlessly reached for his hand. He let her take it, although the feel of her slender fingers laced with his damned near topped his limit for concentration. Then she made it worse. She lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed the ticklish skin on the underside of his wrist.

  She might as well have tossed a match on a can of gasoline. “Do that again and I’m likely to drive off the road.” He drew his hand away. It was that or pull over and jump her.

  They caught the early edge of rush hour, which gave Dani plenty of time to mess with him. She made a game of it, and more than once he had to ease away from her, let go of her hand, or put a stop to her traveling fingers as they wandered up the fly of his jeans. “I’m going to owe you for this,” he said, need spreading from a taste on his tongue to a clutch at the back of his throat. “Paybacks are a bitch.” Need traveled farther, settling like hot coals deep in his belly.

  She just laughed.

  They pulled into his driveway. No lights. No cars. No one home.

  Not that it would have made any difference.

  He shut the door and tore off his jacket in the same motion, then reached for her.

  She buried her face in his chest, shuddering a sigh.

  “My room. Clothes off,” he said, desperate enough to take her over the banister.

  He followed her upstairs, distantly aware of the curve of her ass and her drifting flowery scent. Other details were lost in the waves of violent desire crashing over him. He needed her in a way so deep and primal it blurred everything else.

  As soon as they were through the door of his room, he dragged her against his chest. The impact of his mouth on hers drove him wild. Her feral little groan spun him higher. Her skin was soft and yielding, a high contrast to the fierce clench of her hands on his shoulders. He got a grip on her neck and an arm around her chest. He straightened to his full height, pulling her up on tiptoe. He didn’t want to play nice. Not this time. He wanted her off-balance, open, and vulnerable.

  She opened, sucking his tongue about halfway down her throat and dragging his hand under her shirt to cove
r her breast. He pinched her nipple and she squealed against his mouth. She jerked away from the kiss, found a soft spot at the base of his throat, and bit.

  That did it.

  He forced her face up, crushing her lips with a kiss, his power carrying them across the room. He pinned her against the dresser, her breasts crushed against him, and grasped her hands behind her back.

  Dani lifted her chin and grinned at him, slow and naughty. “You’re playing rough.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “No.”

  Her dark-eyed stare sliced away the rest of his restraint. “Okay.” He jerked her around toward the dresser and pushed down on her shoulders. She braced herself with her hands, and he reached around her waist to undo the fly of her jeans, rocking himself against her ass.

  “You know the good thing about that long drive home?” she asked, her voice breathy, as if the fire consuming them had burned away some of the sound. “I’m so ready for you.”

  He shoved her pants down and reached between her legs.

  Soaking wet.

  He drew in a harsh breath and ripped open the fly of his jeans. He slid himself back and forth through her slick folds, each time spending longer at her opening. She arched and ground her hips against his. With a sharp shove on her back, he adjusted the angle. She scrabbled for a grip on the dresser. Poised at her entrance, he wrenched her jeans down past her knees, then forced her thighs even wider apart.

  He drove deep with his first thrust, deeper still with the second. She wailed his name, but he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. He pounded hard enough to lose track of himself, silencing the voice that kept him in line. The world narrowed down to her silky rose-gold hair and raspy cries, to his bruising grip on her hips and the whirlpool of velvet heat he plunged into again and again and again.

  She broke underneath him, clawing at the dresser, her wordless scream sending liquid lightening shooting from the small of his back, through his ass, and into his balls. He shattered, falling into her, holding tight.

  Danielle came back to herself, bent from the waist, her bare butt in the air, her cheek mashed against Ryan’s rickety dresser.