Ryan's Rules

by Alison Kelly

‘So prove it,’ he challenged her. ‘Cancel the cab and agree to fly back to Sydney with me.’

  ‘Under the circumstances I don’t think that would be a smart thing to do.’

  ‘Oh, get real, K.C.!’ Impatience and disbelief coloured his face. ‘The circumstances are that some nut is trying to kill you! What happened between us doesn’t rank as an issue compared to that.’

  ‘Ryan, I—’

  ‘If you want a promise that I won’t lay a hand on you, then fine, you’ve got it!’ he said, closing the distance between them and making an instant liar of himself by taking hold of her shoulders. ‘But hell, Kirrily, surely you can’t think you’ll be safer with a maniac than with me?’

  Her mind baulked at his use of her full name. She thought she’d imagined that he’d called her Kirrily while making love to her, but perhaps she hadn’t and, if not, it raised an interesting question. Of course she might be reading too much into it, but could his sudden use of her full name after fifteen years mean he was, subconsciously at least, seeing her in a mature light?

  Until now she’d never considered that Ryan’s exclusive use of Steven’s nickname for her might be a way of reinforcing the brotherly relationship he’d assumed with her. Yet, in hindsight, the way his passion had switched to anger after discovering she’d been a virgin seemed to indicate he was torn between acknowledging her as a consenting adult and an innocent he was responsible for protecting.

  From her perspective there was no denying that around Ryan she’d always felt safe. Too safe. It was as if she were an expensive piece of porcelain he felt should be kept locked in the china cabinet so no disaster could befall her. On one level his protectiveness was touching and reassuring, on another it was infuriating, but Kirrily now realised that emotionally there’d never been a time when she’d been immune to Ryan. And she never would be, not after experiencing the raw energy and intensity of his lovemaking.

  Even now she could feel the heat of his hands through the thickness of her jacket. His touch and nearness were more than enough to unfurl ribbons of desire within her, and the sensation deafened her to his, no doubt, pragmatic argument about returning to Sydney. She could only watch in silent fascination as his mouth switched from tight-lipped irritation to the deliberately slow actions of enunciation to bursts of rapid speech revealing glimpses of teeth and tongue. To an observer she probably looked like someone who depended on lip-reading, but the trouble was that she didn’t want to read those lips, she wanted to feel them—feel them all the way from the tip of her head to the soles of her feet.

  ‘Damn it, K.C.!’ His voice rose enough to penetrate her thoughts. ‘You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?’

  It was impossible to stifle a grin. ‘No,’ she replied honestly. ‘But I’ll happily agree with you and go back to Sydney if you want’

  ‘Happily agree with me? That’ll be the day!’ As he surveyed her, a suspicious gleam entered his eye and he stepped away from her. ‘What’s going on in that complex mind of yours?’

  ‘Nothing. But you’re right. I’m safer in Sydney with you than on my own down here.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he said, looking smug. ‘After years of denial you’re admitting you need me to protect you?’

  ‘Yes, Ryan,’ she said without reservation. ‘I need you.’ Nothing in his expression hinted that he’d noticed her deliberate avoidance of the the word ‘protection’, but, afraid she’d perhaps revealed too much, she hurried on. ‘I mean there’s no way whoever’s stalking me would expect to find me living in Cabarita and working for a building-supply firm.’ She grinned. ‘I doubt the cops could have come up with a better idea if I was a candidate for witness protection.’

  A wavelet of unease rippled through Ryan’s gut. ‘How many people did you tell you were going to Sydney?’

  ‘Apart from my agent, Carole, just my flatmates and friends.’

  ‘Who?’ he pressed. ‘Who exactly have you given my address to?’

  ‘I dunno.’ She shrugged as if the question were irrelevant. ‘Anyway, I gave out your phone number, not the address.’

  Ryan turned away as she started to rattle off various names. The knowledge that she’d practically advertised her previous trip to Sydney bothered him. It bothered him a lot…

  CHAPTER NINE

  RYAN was relieved when they finally arrived back at Mascot Airport around one o’clock on Sunday afternoon—not just because being in Sydney put added distance between K.C. and the lunatic harassing her, but because the Jag was still where he’d left it.

  Given the recent spate of warnings by police and insurance companies, leaving the car overnight in the public car park had seemed a blatant invitation to car thieves. But yesterday, by the time he’d made the necessary flight and hotel arrangements, packed, then run the wayward Major to ground and deposited him into Mrs Dunford’s care, he’d been reluctant to rely on a cab getting them to the airport in time to catch their plane. Actually, considering the way he’d flaunted the speed limit driving there, the fact he’d avoided both the highway patrol and car thieves was nothing short of miraculous.

  If his luck held he’d have no trouble getting K.C. to go along with the idea which had sprung into his head on the flight back to Sydney. Sure—like he’d get two miracles in twenty-four hours!

  Disarming the car alarm, he opened the passenger door for K.C.. ‘I want to make a slight detour on the way home,’ he said casually.

  ‘OK, but could you get my cellular phone out of my bag before you put it in the boot? I want to make some calls.’

  He obliged without comment and she was busy punching out telephone numbers when he slid behind the steering wheel.

  Ryan found mobile phones an intrusion which, had he not needed one for business, he could cheerfully have lived without; K.C. regarded them as one of life’s top three necessities along with food and water. Since he wasn’t sure how far he’d get before she stopped buying the ‘slight detour’ story, he hoped the phone would distract her until jumping from a moving Jag wasn’t an option she’d take.

  While convincing her to return to Sydney had been achieved with minimum debate, Ryan wasn’t counting on two easy victories over her stubbornness in one lifetime, much less one day. He might like to believe common sense would continue to keep her agreeable to his taking control of the situation, but at best K.C. only greeted common sense with grudging resignation; she’d equate the passive surrender of her independence a second time with death.

  Acid bile rose in his throat as his subconscious again highlighted the gravity of the situation. His eyes darted to the woman seated beside him. Like it or lump it, even if it meant she hated him till his dying day, he was going to do whatever was necessary to protect her.

  An hour later K.C. was still chatting away on her cellular phone to her agent as if innocently unaware of where they were. Ryan knew otherwise; he’d seen her frown twice as they passed signposts indicating their route. So why wasn’t she questioning this ‘slight detour’ that so far had taken them nearly a hundred kilometres out of their way, huh?

  Why was she sending him benign smiles in between a string of phone calls that had to run into a four-figure bill and treating him to such perfect politeness that they could have passed for strangers? Ryan didn’t like it…not one damn bit!

  He continued questioning K.C.’s curious malleability, but, devoid of an explanation, determinedly diverted his attention away from his beautiful but enigmatic passenger. It worked for about three seconds, then the soft, melodious tone of her laughing at something her agent said jarred him to the point where he wanted to snatch the phone from her. Knowing the urge was an immature need to take revenge for the effect she was having on him, he gripped the steering wheel tightly enough to cut off all blood circulation to his fingers.

  It wasn’t natural to be this close to K.C. and not have her breathy, excited chatter directed at him. Hell, he’d rather have her arguing with him than ignoring him! Maybe, he reasoned, avoiding c
onversation with him was her way of dealing with what had happened last night. If so, he hoped it was working for her because it sure wasn’t helping him any! God, he’d never been so aware of a woman in his entire life! If anything, making love to her last night had fed his attraction, not cured it, and, despite his promise, keeping his hands off her was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do.

  He cast a furtive glance at her, then recognised it for the foolish move it was the instant his eyes collided with her vivid green ones; the physical impact of her shy blush had him clamping his teeth together and visualising a cold—very cold—shower.

  By the time she ended her call he felt as if every nerve in his body was tied in knots.

  ‘So what did your agent have to say?’ he asked, in what he hoped was a casual voice. ‘Any big Hollywood offers?’

  ‘I should be so lucky. All she’s got is a walk-on role in a sitcom which calls for me to wear a purple wig and say two lines. I passed on it.’

  ‘Why?’

  A heavy sigh carried from the passenger seat. ‘The show’s in its death throes; it’s hardly going to resurrect my career.’

  Complete silence ensued between them for several kilometres until another signpost came into view. When Kirrily again noted it without making comment it forced Ryan to speak.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me where we’re going?’

  ‘Nope. I figured that out a while back.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah, though it’s hardly what I’d call a slight detour. We’re going to Bowral; Mum mentioned you bought a block of land there.’ She twisted in her seat so she was facing him. ‘Am I right?’

  He shot her a quick glance and was irrationally pleased to see a smile on her face. He reverted his eyes to the road, wondering if he’d ever before been as preoccupied with Kirrily’s happiness as he was now.

  ‘Well?’ she prompted. ‘Am I right or not?’

  ‘Half-right.’

  ‘So what’s the other half?’

  ‘If I tell you it won’t be a surprise.’

  ‘If you don’t tell me, I’m out of this car at the next set of traffic lights.’

  It was an empty threat since there were no lights on the expressway, but the return of her dry tone sounded like music to his ears and he couldn’t resist baiting her some more.

  ‘Where’s all that polite civility and blind obedience you’ve been treating me to since reading me the Riot Act this morning?’

  ‘All good things in moderation, Ryan,’ she quipped. ‘Now, are you going to tell me what this surprise is or not?’

  ‘Not.’

  ‘Ryan! I demand to know why you’re taking me to Bowral!’

  He grinned. ‘Ah! Now there’s the K.C. we all know and love—bossy, temperamental, stubborn…’

  Whatever other less than endearing terms he assigned to her, Kirrily didn’t hear because the word ‘love’ was echoing loudly in her brain. Though she knew that without ‘in’ preceding it coming from Ryan it probably meant no more than it did coming from her parents or any other relative. Trevor Nichols might think Ryan was in love with her, but with a disastrous marriage to his name Trev’s credibility in matters of the heart wasn’t exactly iron-clad.

  Yet, regardless of how Ryan felt, after last night Kirrily knew she was as deeply in love as she was ever going to get. It didn’t matter that she had no previous lovers by which to measure her reaction to Ryan; she knew without a shadow of doubt that she’d never feel this way about another man. She’d been born to love Ryan and she’d die loving only him. The question was what to do about it.

  With any other man she’d have pursued him with an ‘I’ve got nothing to lose’ attitude, yet with Ryan she sensed she might lose everything. Then again, considering she’d already surrendered her heart, virginity and a sizeable chunk of her pride to him, there wasn’t much left to risk!

  Except your independence, an inner voice reminded her.

  Yes, she conceded on a mental sigh, that was what made her reluctant to follow her heart—the fear that Ryan’s love would be too all-consuming. To Kirrily, who preferred to act on impulse rather than give selfdoubt time to overpower her, Ryan Talbot was so damned sure of himself that she was scared his confidence would undermine her independence. What if, after winning the only man she wanted in her life, he became the only thing in her life? Steven had held that status in Jayne’s life even from beyond the grave. The thought of being that emotionally bound to another person terrified Kirrily.

  She shivered as a renegade thought burst into her brain; supposing she ignored the threat to her identity, be it real or imagined, and pursued Ryan? Wouldn’t she be risking their complex but long-standing friendship? Friends could become lovers, but could lovers go back to being friends? While Kirrily wanted to be much more than friends with Ryan, she wasn’t sure if she could live with being anything less…

  ‘Hey, K.C.!’ The exuberant address pulled her from her introspection. ‘If you keep frowning like that you’ll get premature wrinkles, and then where will your career be?’

  ‘I hate to think, since it’s in the toilet now.’

  It was his turn to frown. ‘Things are that bad?’

  ‘Let’s see…I’ve been sacked from a successful, longrunning series on the premise that I’m difficult to work with,’ she said, holding up her thumb. ‘I’m being chased by a maniac who wants me dead.’ Up went a finger. ‘My home, which I’m struggling to make payments on since I’m unemployed, has been reduced to a pile of ash, my agent has nothing suitable for me on the horizon, and I’m totally unskilled for another career.’ She held her now open hand where he could see it. ‘That’s five counts against me, Ryan. Previously the most I’ve ever had at any one time was three. So, yeah,’ she said, ‘I’d say things are that bad.’

  Catching her off guard, Ryan snared her raised hand and brought it to rest on his thigh. Slowly he spread her fingers wide by inserting his own between them. Kirrily found the action mind-numbingly erotic and had to fight the temptation to explore the firm muscle she felt beneath the worn denim of his jeans.

  ‘First,’ he said, his eyes on the road, ‘the way I hear it you weren’t sacked; your contract wasn’t renewed because you placed too high a value on yourself. Their loss, not yours.’ The look he gave her as he curled her thumb into her palm made her heart flip.

  ‘Secondly,’ he continued, his eyes reverting to the windscreen, ‘the police have made catching the guy hassling you a top priority now. And he’s not likely to be able to trace you since no one knows exactly where you are except me, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Understand?’

  The intensity of his gaze and the total confidence in his voice reassured her as nothing else could have. Not trusting her vocal cords, she merely nodded.

  ‘Good.’ He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before curling down the second of her fingers. ‘Now, your house was insured, right?’

  ‘Y-y-y-yes.’

  ‘Well, then, financially you’re not in such dire straights. In case you’ve forgotten, you have excellent connections in the building game; between our dads and me, rebuilding your house isn’t going to be a hardship.’ Her middle finger was turned down. ‘And you aren’t unemployed,’ he stressed. ‘You’re what’s commonly known in the acting profession as “between projects”, only, instead of waiting tables or driving cabs, you’re working in the accounts department of Talbot’s Building Supplies.’

  As her ring finger received identical treatment to the others he directed a hundred-megawatt smile at her that Kirrily was sure had done major damage to her heart if not actually melted it. ‘Wh…what about this problem?’ she asked, jiggling her still outstretched little finger; beneath it she felt his thigh muscle contract.

  ‘You mean being unskilled? Not an issue,’ he whispered in response to her nod, enclosing her fist in his much larger one before lifting it to his mouth and placing the softest of kisses against her inner wrist. ‘You’ll succeed at
anything you put your heart and mind to, Kirrily. I know from experience you’re a very quick study.’

  She didn’t kid herself that he was talking about how she’d handled the invoices at the office. Yet before she could formulate a reply her hand was back in her lap, and all she knew was that Bruce Springsteen was blasting from the car’s state-of-the-art CD player, a road sign was advising the exit for the Southern Tablelands town of Bowral and that Ryan had not only called her Kirrily again but he’d kissed her without any prompting on her part. In an effort to compose herself, she stared out at the gently rolling hills of the Southern Tablelands.

  As a child she’d spent many a Sunday afternoon with her parents combing the antiques and craft stores in the towns of Bowral, Mittagong, Moss Vale and Kangaroo Valley and the beauty and tranquillity of the area had always appealed to her. Yet residency in the area didn’t come cheap, and what had once merely been a small rural community had become a fashionable area for assorted celebrities and politicians if only on a part-time basis. Large, elegant homes were sited on manicured, multi-acre blocks, some viewable from the road by virtue of their hilltop locations, others screened for privacy by high concrete walls with built-in security systems.

  ‘Not exactly a first-home-buyers’ neighbourhood,’ she noted as she saw a chauffeur-driven limo waiting at iron gates which, from road level, revealed a long gravelled drive and nothing else.

  Ryan told her the property belonged to a retired titled politician whose source of wealth had always been under scrutiny.

  ‘If he’s one of your neighbours, Ryan, I’m not sure if I should be impressed by your success or disappointed that you’ve outgrown your blue-collar roots. Still, as an investment you’ve got it made.’

  ‘What makes you think I bought here only as an investment?’

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t be practical for you to live here.

  What with the hours you put in at the office, the commuting would kill you. Besides, the night-life would be next to non-existent’

  He sent her a questioning look. ‘Contrary to what you imagine, my wild night-life is usually restricted to business dinners.’