He is mine.
But marriage? Is he fucking mad?
I snatched the toast up out of the toaster and slammed it down on the plate, then proceeded to lather butter and jam all over the top. My eyes constantly flicked up to Daisy's little form out in the garden, the Hauraki Gulf as backdrop, Ryan's mother's garden as her frame. She was so happy here, dancing about in the sunshine, singing at the top of her lungs as she chased butterflies around the flowerbeds, and then would suddenly stop and watch a gull dive and swoop offshore.
Mesmerised.
My knife scraped the china in a chilling screech which made Ryan frown. I could see him, standing just off the the side, leaning against the bench, watching my every move.
He'd watched my every move last night too. While we made love. While we talked in the shower. After he'd asked me to marry him and I'd clammed up. I'm sure he watched me sleep too. Or watched me pretend to sleep until finally sleep called me close to dawn.
Ryan watches. He watches me as though I'll be stolen, taken away from him, and he has only so long to commit my image to memory, to carry him through the rest of his life.
"Marie," he said, this time more forcefully. "Tell me what I did wrong?"
What he did wrong. Is he fucking mad? Isn't it obvious?
I turned and placed the plate down on the table, then pushed past him and called Daisy from the back door. I waited for her to scamper inside and then helped her wash her hands before she sat at the table and practically inhaled the toast and jam.
Neither Ryan nor I said a single word the entire time.
As soon as she finished she asked to play outside again. All I could do was nod my head, as I picked her dirty plate up and rinsed it off for the dishwasher.
"Babe," Ryan tried, taking a step closer.
I stilled. Staring at the sink, watching the last of the water drain out.
"You know how I feel about you," he said softly, his hot breath close enough to feel against my cheek. "I know you feel the same way. Is it too soon?"
I turned my head so I could look at him, but kept my body mainly facing the sink. The division I placed between us was not lost on him. He scowled down at my stance.
"Why'd you have to go and ruin everything?" I whispered.
His eyes flicked up to mine, confusion and hurt mingling there.
Ah, damn. I was being an utter bitch and it had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with my fucked up life.
"Can we just..." I sucked in a deep breath of air, blinked a few times to clear my head, then said, "Can we just pretend it didn't happen?"
"No," he replied, resolutely. "Not until you give me an adequate reason for shutting me out since last night."
"I'm not shutting you out now."
"Talking to me again does not mean you've let me back in. What happened to honesty? Embracing life? Real?"
I scoffed and turned to face him, arms crossing over my chest. His eyes dipped to the motion, but returned to my face immediately. He was pissed. I could see it now. He was fuming and trying desperately to hold the anger inside.
Ah, crap. Now I was helping him create bad memories in a place that held the only good memories of his mother, under the fucked up shadow of his mother's killer.
This was going so wrong.
I reached out blindly for the dishcloth and searched beneath the sink for the bleach. I began spraying the bench and then wiping it down furiously, determined to not miss a spot. This, at least, I could do properly.
His hand stilled over mine, cupping it, keeping it motionless.
"Tiger," he said, and that one word, that silly nickname he'd given me, made my eyes tear up and my throat constrict. "Ah, Marie, sweetheart," he whispered, pulling me into his embrace as the tears flooded my eyes and coated my cheeks. "It's OK, babe. If it's too soon, I can wait." He laughed. "We have only known each other less than a week." He shrugged his shoulders, one hand smoothing down my hair at the back of my head, the other wrapped around my body, holding me close. "I can get carried away sometimes. But I know how I feel, and I thought you were on the same page."
I'd thought we were on the same page too.
We stood like that in silence. The tears eventually dried up, leaving me a little bereft. Clinging to his body while my ear pressed to his chest and desperately tried to count his heartbeats. They were regular, not a skipped one among them. It calmed me.
When Daisy was a just a wee baby, I'd sit beside her cot and count her breaths. Making sure they were even. That they were fast enough. That she didn't have sleep apnoea or tachypnoea. It became an obsession. I couldn't sleep for fear I'd miss something. That I wouldn't be there if she stopped breathing. It was the first sign of who I had become. It took three months of sleepless nights and vigilant respiration checking for me to realise it wasn't healthy. It wasn't right.
But I couldn't stop it. I couldn't turn the need to count her breaths off. So, I compromised. I allowed myself a count of one hundred. If she missed a beat, sped up or slowed down, within that time, I would start at the beginning.
Daisy was three years old when I stopped rigorously counting, trusting her to sleep through the night when I put her down.
Instead I sang her a song, and while I sang the song and watched her fall asleep, I'd just peek at her respirations, just a glimpse, a small rate check I told myself, and that would be enough.
I still sing Daisy Bell to her each night. I still glance at her chest to make sure it rises and falls. But I haven't actually consciously counted her respiration rate for the past five days.
Since Ryan Pierce walked into my world and turned it upside down in more ways than one.
I let a long breath of air out and pulled back to look up at his face. Tenderness and concern stared back at me.
I swallowed past a dry throat and said, "I have issues." No judgement, just a soft nod of his head, an encouragement to go on. "I'm obsessive," I admitted, he smiled. Yeah, he'd obviously got that one. "Compulsive with the obsessions," I added. "I count things. Counting helps. Your respiratory rate is fourteen breaths per minute right now."
His eyebrows rose up his face.
"Your pulse was sitting at fifty-five beats per minute, but it's just gone up."
A soft breath of air got pushed through his lips. He blinked.
"I'm telling you this so you understand what I am. What I have become since that night. What I need in order to get through the day."
"OK," he said quietly, as though he wasn't quite sure what to say to all of that. Then, "So, is that why you shut me out? Because you needed to count?"
I frowned and let a burst of air out through my nose, scrunching up my face while I was at it.
"Not consciously. And it's not just counting. I clean too. Obsessively."
"I had noticed that," he replied gently, his hand lifting the cloth off the bench and then putting it back down.
"I have routines, certain paths I take to walk to work, certain paths I have to avoid."
"Uh-hah."
"I don't handle change well."
"You're doing all right," he murmured.
I shook my head. "No, I'm not." Another frown. "Or at least I wasn't."
"You weren't?"
I shook my head again. "That's beside the point. I guess, what I'm trying to tell you is..." I hesitated. Having never really put any of this into words, it was harder than I had anticipated.
"That you're a little fucked in the head and don't handle surprises well," he offered, the words light, but his gaze intense. "Hell, Marie. We're all like that to a certain extent."
"Not like me."
"No," he agreed. "Perhaps not to the same level, but you've got to know I have quirks too, babe."
I blinked at him. He wasn't getting it.
"I have to be the one to step up to the plate and help out. I can't say no to someone in true need. I'll forgo sleep in order to see them to safety. I'm constantly checking that the Women's Refuge has everything it needs, twice a month,
sometimes more. And when my trust doesn't earn much money, I supplement the donation with funds from my pay-cheque."
Silence.
"I married once and it was a disaster," I rushed to say, the words tumbling out after his own admission, as though him opening up to that degree cracked my shield, unlocked my flood gates, and made it all pour out. "I became OCD straight after. I've improved, but those first few months, hell that first year, was hard. Too hard. I can't go back there again. I can't. I just can't do that to Daisy. If she saw me now, how I was back then, she'd think I was crazy. I can't be a crazy mother. It's not fair. She's already got a dead criminal father, she can't have the stigma of an institutionalised mother as well."
Ryan just looked at me, really looked at me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking and after that horrendous verbal explosion I'm not sure I wanted to know. I shuffled slightly on my feet and his hands came up, cupping my cheeks, thumbs rubbing softly over my jaw.
"I won't let you."
My mouth fell open. He didn't dismiss my concerns. He didn't brush them aside. He acknowledged them, and then gave me the only thing he could, that I would be willing to accept.
I won't let you. I won't let you go back there. I won't let you let Daisy down.
"So," he said softly, still rubbing his thumbs across my jaw, still cupping my cheeks. "It's not the time, is it? It's the act."
I nodded. I was shit scared of marrying again and having my world fall apart when it went wrong.
"OK," he whispered. "I'm not giving up." What? "I still want to call you my wife. I want to be Daisy's father."
"You can do that without a marriage certificate."
"True. But I want it all." He hurried on when I stiffened. "But I can wait."
"For what?"
He smiled. It was one of his sexy smiles; all knowing, and mischievous, and a little bad-boy inside.
"For you to realise that you want it too."
I shook my head and opened my mouth to argue, his finger pressed firmly onto my lips to shut me up.
"Hush," he instructed. "Trust me. I'm a cop." He winked. "Now that that's settled." It is? "Let's grab a coffee, something to eat, and go sit outside in the sun."
I glanced out the window, catching a glimpse of Daisy climbing a tree off to the side of the backyard. Bare feet, skirt caught in her knickers, as she scurried up the trunk like a monkey onto a higher branch.
She was happy. Carefree. She felt safe here, with me and Ryan. Maybe it was mainly the presence of 'deetetiv' Pierce. Or maybe it was that her mother was here and she could see what Ryan gave me. A calmness that stilled the storm inside, a shield that wasn't made of ice. The ability to get through the day without counting.
Ryan had turned my world upside down and inside out. And then given me a rudder to sail straight again. Offered me a shoulder to lean on. The courage to escape a situation that was not good, nor safe, nor right.
"You know what," I said, as I took one of the coffee cups he'd just filled. He half turned to look at me as he piled some pastries onto a plate to take outside. "You kind of are a knight in shining armour."
He snorted, then covered it with a laugh instead.
"As long as you let me be yours and Daisy's knight in shining armour."
I offered a wide smile, miraculously feeling the honesty behind it. I'd had a mini breakdown, almost reverted to old ways, and somehow he'd steered me clear of the turbulent waters. And given me a lighthouse to aim for.
We sat down on the deck chairs and sipped our drinks quietly, taking in the stunning view, the serenity of the location, the beauty that was his birth mother's home. I flicked a glance over towards him, saw where his thoughts had gone, and reached out a hand to grasp his.
He squeezed my fingers and lifted his coffee to his lips to sip, his eyes on me, not the view or the past. I held his gaze drinking my own coffee and listened to Daisy sing, accompanied by the odd sea gull.
Minutes ticked by pleasantly, there was no need for chatter. No need to make conversation when none was desired. Our eyes said it all.
His said, You're beautiful.
Mine replied, You're pretty hot, yourself.
His answered, If we were alone, I'd have my wicked way with you.
Mine teased, Not before I had mine with you.
His asked, And how exactly does that go?
Mine whispered, Me on my knees, you lost to my mouth.
He cleared his throat, shifted in his seat, and flicked a glance over to Daisy.
I sniggered quietly to myself, blowing the steam above my mug, and watched the world go by. For a moment pretending nothing else mattered, but the three people right here, and this little slice out of time.
It was perfect.
Until he said, eyes staring off into the distance, a small smirk tipping up the edges of his lips, "Realised you want it yet?"
And then it became real.
I was in love with this man. I wasn't sure if I was ready for marriage, I wasn't sure if I ever would be again, but maybe it would be OK to find out. With him.
Chapter 27
I'd Never Dared Hope For More
We spent most of the day purposely not mentioning the ledger or Roan McLaren or the tattooed goon and former Detective Andrews. We avoided every possible thing that would shatter the fragile peace we had. We clung to fantasy, refusing to give in to reality, and just soaked up the sun in the backyard, watched the yachts and larger container ships sail out into the distance, and entertained Daisy.
There wasn't much for a five year old to do at Ryan's holiday home. I had stopped calling it his birth mother's home sometime before lunch. It obviously still reminded him of her. I'd be surprised if he could ever look at the place and not be reminded. But isn't that why he purchased it? To have that link to his biological mother.
I'd catch him with a empty look on his face, staring at something neither Daisy nor I could see. So I'd sneak up and kiss him behind his ear, run a hand over his butt cheek in passing, or make Daisy jump on his back and beg for a horse ride. Anything to break the trap of memories he'd fallen into. It worked, he'd offer a lascivious grin and wink to me, or in Daisy's case he'd start to tickle her, chasing her about the garden or inside the house.
The rear of the property was sheltered from the front, but although Daisy begged to walk along the beach and search for seashells, Ryan had to gently let her down. We were adequately hidden in the backyard, but should anyone recognise us in the more public places our safe house would no longer be safe. So sunbathing on the deck, tree climbing and butterfly catching around the garden and inside the odd board game; a good selection of which were stored in a cupboard off the hall.
I thought I'd get stir crazy. I'd thought I'd systematically dust or wipe down surfaces to still the panic that would surely be building inside. But although the ledger wasn't far from my thoughts, I found myself... settled. Taking the time to play a round of Junior Monopoly with Daisy, mixing up a smoothie drink for us all to have out on the deck, making a picnic hamper to share on a blanket on the grass, or simply reading one of the up-to-date magazines from off the coffee table in the lounge.
Or just talking to Ryan.
He went to school with Dominic and Nicholas Anscombe; Genevieve and Eva's respective fiancés. His partner Harvey Stone was also in their high school group of friends. And even to this day they all get together at Christmas to celebrate their good fortune and the longevity of their friendship. He told me he'd been ready to settle down for some time now, watching Harvey with his wife and kid, and now both Dom and Nick setting wedding dates.
"Hell," he murmured, while wrapping an arm around my shoulder on the swing seat, as we watched Daisy play 'house' with a pile of blankets and several pillows for beds on the lawn. "Even little Katie Anscombe is getting married now. Never saw that one coming."
"So, this whole marriage lark you're on is because of some biological clock ticking?" I huffed out a laugh and swung my feet to make the swing sway. "I thought that w
as a female excuse."
He didn't say anything for a moment, just watched Daisy and helped rock the seat.
"You blind-sided me." The words were spoken so softly, I had to strain to hear them. "I walked into that office thinking I was chasing another dead end and there you were. For a moment my heart stopped beating, literally ceased to pump any blood. I think I may have had to steady myself against the door jam, but thankfully you were too busy to notice. Untying cords beneath your desk as though your life depended on it."
He shook his head and offered me a small smile.
"Completely stole my breath away and it made absolutely no sense."
We swung for a quiet moment, the gulls crying above, Daisy verbalising her house-play aloud.
"Did you believe in love at first sight?" I asked eventually.
"The second you turned around and faced me, having crawled out on your knees in that fucking fantastic tight skirt, and sucked in a breath of surprise when your eyes met mine."
"Before that?"
He chuckled. "For pansies and romance books."
I laughed. Yeah, I'd pretty much thought the same thing.
"It's electrical," he whispered. "It's... metaphysical. It can't be explained, or believed, until you experience it yourself."
"And not just for pansies and romance novel characters."
"Yeah," he whispered, turning to face me, his hand coming up and fingers cupping my chin, lifting my face to his for a kiss.
It was sweet and slow, a soft show of our emotions for each other. Then somehow, as it always does when Ryan kisses me, the world disappeared and the kiss deepened and I thought I'd found heaven. His fingers ran along the edge of my jaw, down my neck, and then back up again. His tongue delved and flicked and swirled, tangling with mine, tasting delicious, making my skin tingle and my body arch and my hands fist into his shirt.
A slow burn started deep down inside, my legs shifted restlessly as his free hand twisted fingers in my hair and tipped my head at just the right angle. He made a sound, which I mirrored; hungry, desperate, never quite getting enough. My breasts rubbed against his hard chest and the friction sent electricity shooting through my bones, stealing my breath, making my heart rate explode in a rush of anticipation.
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