Ryder

by Ali Parker

  They made it to the kitchen and the pot of promised coffee. Brice slid onto a stool at his breakfast bar after pouring them each a cup and shot her a look that was more a command than an invitation, so she took the stool one away from him. This earned her a cocked eyebrow and a strangely endearing half-smile.

  * * *

  Talk about a complete reversal, Brice thought to himself, staring at the shy woman who was slurping down her coffee so fast, he knew she couldn't wait to get out of there. Last night she'd been a walking wet dream, and now she wouldn't even meet his eyes. She blamed her behavior on the booze, but Brice knew that excuse wasn't completely justified. Janna seemed to have enjoyed herself. I sure as hell did.

  He rubbed a hand across his face, realizing that this morning was a role reversal for him as well. The usual morning after involved a hasty retreat, followed the next day by a bouquet of in-season flowers and a note. If he would have written the truth on the tiny card, it would have said, "Thank you for a night of forgettable enjoyment. It's unlikely I'll ever see you again." Instead, it said, "I had a nice time. Brice."

  The hope of once again burying himself in her addictive heat made him forge ahead. He surprised himself by asking, "So, when can I see you again?"

  Janna almost choked on her coffee, and her heavy coughing had him slapping her on the back. "Stop!" she squealed, then managed to get out "I'm fine," before coughing several more times.

  "Well?" He wasn't one to be put off by a momentary challenge.

  "I don't think we should." She put her cup down and turned to face him. "It's not a good idea."

  "Why the hell not?" he asked, then mentally kicked himself for the intensity he heard. Keep calm, Brice, he reminded himself. Sell her on the idea first. Don't let her smell desperation on you, or you'll never close. "I mean, I thought we both had a good time last night."

  "We did." Her tone was serious. "Believe me, I had a great time. But that's all it was. We don't need to pretend it was anything more than a holiday party hookup. I'm sure it wasn't your first, and it probably won't be your last."

  "What if it was my first?" he said, his tone more confrontational than he would have liked. It wasn't, but last night hadn't been like the other times when he'd used random women to mute the pain inside. Janna was something special.

  She shook her head in simple disbelief. "Look, Brice, you're a fantastic guy, but we've got nothing in common. There's nothing to build a relationship on, and although I admit I may have given you the wrong impression last night, I'm not a casual hookup type of girl. So let's just call this what it is -- a mistake -- and move on."

  "Now that's just unfair," he grumbled. "You insist that you're not the "casual hookup type" while basically accusing me of being a man-whore. I disagree that we have nothing to build on because you won't even take a minute to get to know me better. Aren't you making a lot of assumptions?"

  "Aren't you?" she countered. "We had fun. I'm not interested in anything beyond that. I don't think you are either. It was just sex -- albeit awesome sex -- and now I've overstayed my welcome." Janna hopped off the stool, grabbed her things, and headed towards the exit.

  Luckily for him, the exit was pretty far away. Sometimes owning a mansion had its advantages. He stalked her as she took the hallway at a near-jog. "Janna," he said, forcing his tone to be as soft as he could make it. "I like you. It wasn't just sex to me. I haven't been in a serious relationship for years, but with you--"

  "Just stop right there!" She turned, putting her hand up as if to block his words. "I can't do this, Brice. I won't. I don't have time for a relationship right now, especially one where my chance of heartbreak is so high--"

  "But you won't even--"

  "No, I won't. I'm sorry." She turned and sprinted the last few feet down the hallway and pulled open the large double doors. Rain blew in as Brice watched her silhouette turn back to him. "I had a great time at your party, Mr. Masterson. Happy holidays." Then she was gone, the doors slamming shut behind her.

  Brice considered going after her and almost did, but restrained himself. Chasing her down wouldn't win him any points. She was skittish all of the sudden. Last night she had seemed an open book, ready to complain about the host at his own lavish party, then to be seduced by him. He remembered her eagerness, her responsiveness, and damn if his dick didn't get even harder than it had been after their shower. And yet this morning she'd fought against her own desire, and she was now a closed book. But he wanted to add another chapter. Maybe he'd get the chance. Despite her protests this morning, Brice wouldn't give up. He loved a challenge.

  * * *

  Janna pulled her car into the driveway of the co-op and rested her head on the steering wheel, already exhausted. She'd fought to keep her concentration on the road, on the green blur of miles passing by. A green blur that reminded her of a certain sexy millionaire's eyes. Thoughts like these kept breaking through the thin veneer of her focus, and she'd been forced to push away the memory of his kisses, of his embrace, of his skilled tongue and hard maleness. He was the best lover she'd ever had, simply amazing. She was just as amazed at her own behavior last night.

  Had she really traveled into deep throat territory? Had she begged the man to fuck her? Janna felt like her cheeks would stay red for a week. She'd told herself last night that she wouldn't regret her actions, but it had all made sense in the fog of her alcohol-induced surrender. You can't blame it all on the bottle, her conscience chided her. You wanted him before you had your first drink.

  So what if I did? she shot back, I would have never made a move without the burn of liquid courage in my belly. Her conscience might not believe her, but it had to be true. It was a one night stand, a fling, a hookup. A reward for a year of hard work. But like good dark chocolate, too much made you sick. Better to nibble a little piece and savor it.

  Janna knew that a man like Brice would be easy to fall for. Forget the millions; just his smile was enough to make her heart go pitter-patter. And Janna knew she was much too susceptible to the charming fantasy of Brice Masterson. If she saw him again, her heart would convince her mind that it was okay to believe that a man like him could want a woman like her long-term.

  A woman who didn't know where she was going half the time. A woman who had already kicked 30's door down and hadn't even achieved her own apartment yet, let alone a career. Sure, a sophisticated, handsome, intelligent, witty millionaire just couldn't help falling in love with the oldest graduate student in the biology department, one whose dissertation on the mating habits of the slender salamander might end up being the most rewritten document in history.

  With a weary exhale, Janna pulled herself out of her old Volvo and trudged up the co-op steps, tugging on the waistband of Brice's sweatpants. Shit, how am I gonna get his clothes back to him?

  Don't worry, her inner voice responded, he can buy himself a warehouse of old t-shirts and sweatpants if he wants. He won't miss them. She entered the spacious house which now served as home to about twenty grad students and an oversized cat named Norman. Norman was nowhere to be seen as Janna climbed the rickety steps to her own room. The doors around her started to bang open and closed, but Janna burrowed under her covers, closing her eyes and willing unconsciousness to descend.

  Unfortunately, unconsciousness was unwilling to go down without a fight.

  A pair of bright green eyes appeared on the backs of her eyelids, and she wasn't quick enough in banishing them. They were replaced by a wide white smile that revealed his hidden chin dimple. Her over-stimulated mind began a slideshow of images that soon had her clenching her thighs together in desire for relief. Janna groaned, embarrassment warring with the desire to repeat the sexily sinful acts she had committed, repeat them over and over again. Brice Masterson was the most addictive man she'd ever met.

  After he'd heard her remarks about trust funds and rich folks, instead of having her shown out, he'd pursued her like a hound running down a rabbit. And for a rabbit, she'd been very ready to be caught. But
the rabbit regretted its status as prey the morning after its throat had been ripped out. Janna shook her head to clear it of her dark thoughts. Surely it wasn't that severe. It'd been a night to remember, but that was all.

  Realizing that sleep wasn't coming anytime soon, Janna rolled over and reached into her backpack on the floor next to her bed. She pulled out a copy of the Central Willamette Weekly and flipped to the 'Community' section. Time for a new hobby, something to take my mind off the handsome playboy with a secret dimple. She'd allowed herself a night with Brice as a distraction from the seemingly eternal frustration of her dissertation. Now she needed a distraction from her distraction.

  The weekly periodical listed upcoming classes in all manner of topics -- meditation, massage, gardening, bicycling, martial arts, visual arts, and crafts of unlimited permutations -- and Janna was no stranger to the offerings. She'd tried just about every course on the list and now scouted for something she hadn't dipped a toe into yet. There were only three candidates: Elementary Watercolors, Japanese 101, and Qigong I. Japanese was right out -- no reason to take on extra homework in the middle of writing a dissertation. That left either an art class or an exercise class. Qigong was interesting, a relaxing workout of slow movements and channeling energy. But a sudden image of Brice Masterson, shirtless, practicing the unhurried motions of the martial art, pushed Elementary Watercolors to the top of the pile.

  Decision made, she snuggled back under her covers and once again closed her eyes. A new hobby always brought her a sense of calm accompanied by a tiny spark of excitement at trying something new. Yeah, well, last night that little spark went haywire and became a bonfire. Sure, sometimes you could overdose on something new. You just had to know when to bail out. Like this morning. Janna groaned, realizing she was thinking about him again. Dammit!

  Chapter 3

  Three Months Later

  Janna stood up and stretched, rubbing a bottom which had gone numb after an hour on the old stool in front of her easel. She let out a long breath, a critical eye on her work. The canvas was a study in the color green.

  Since she'd moved to the Pacific Northwest almost a decade ago, Janna thought she'd never seen so many different shades of green in one place. This was the inspiration for the abstract watercolor series she'd been painting, she told herself. Not the memory of a certain pair of eyes.

  She was still thinking about him, even though she hadn't seen him in months. Not that he hadn't tried. The day after "The Morning After," Janna received a gigantic bouquet of wildflowers, accompanied by a small card saying, "Call me if you decide to take a chance." It was signed "Brice, " and a phone number was scrawled below the signature.

  The next day, another bouquet of flowers, this one comprised of two dozen identically-perfect yellow roses, with a card saying, "Praying to see my shy goddess again soon." And the day after that, she received a third bouquet, this one full of birds of paradise, with a card saying simply, "I miss you. Call me."

  She hadn't called him, and after the third bouquet he'd given up on cards and flowers. A week after the party she'd received a delivery of dessert from the most expensive restaurant in town with a note saying, "I've got a standing reservation for dinner for two. Just name the date and time."

  She couldn't bring herself to eat the delicate chocolate concoction. It sat in her fridge, a silent and untouched temptation. A week after that, a knock at the co-op door heralded a party of three uniformed technicians from a posh downtown spa. They dragged in their equipment and proceeded to give her the royal treatment.

  Although she protested initially, a long massage eroded any further resistance. A manicure and pedicure followed, and an optional wax, while offered, was politely refused. Charging a waxing to someone you weren't even dating seemed inappropriate.

  Despite all of the attention she was receiving, Janna wouldn't let down her defenses. Although his sweetness delighted her, and his persistence flattered her, she was afraid to even call him to thank him. The possibility of hearing his smooth as molasses voice made her tense. She considered sending him a note to say thanks but figured he would take it as a sign that her resistance was crumbling. Even if it was, she couldn't let him know that.

  Although Janna might not be able to settle on a career path, using up most of her twenties flitting from intense program to odd job to new passion and back again, she had, unfortunately, the opposite problem with men. She wasn't a commitment phobic; she was a break-up phobic. It was easy to see only good things, to build a fantasy of forever once she let her guard down with a guy. So far, no guy had shared that fantasy with her. After her last break-up had left her in her pajamas for nearly a month, she'd sworn off serious relationships and thrown herself wholly into achieving her Ph.D.

  If she caved and went out with him, she didn't know if she would be able to keep from committing herself to him, whether or not he wanted such a commitment. With a man like Brice Masterson, it was very likely he didn't. So instead of mooning around, dreaming about what could be, Janna threw herself into her newest distraction -- Elementary Watercolors. The class was what she needed to focus her attention away from the sexy, sophisticated man.

  The gentle brushstrokes and the way the colors seemed to take on a life of their own once they hit the page soothed her. It awakened a calm inside her that burned much longer than the usual spark of something new. As it turned out, she had a talent for it as well. Her instructor had even submitted some of her work to a local art showcase, and she'd been accepted. Tonight three of her watercolors would be hanging at the Master's Gallery in the Promising Local Artists Showcase.

  The proud glow that suffused her was tempered only by the sting of shame she felt at abandoning her dissertation yet again in favor of her new hobby. This sometimes happened, but usually, Janna was able to pull back her focus and get the job done. This time, however, she was barely able to get a line or two down on paper before she gave up writing and turned to her brushes and paints. She kept telling herself that it was only a hobby, that she'd have some fun during the term break and learn something new. Now with the winter break and most of the following term almost over, she was still obsessed with watercolors, her dissertation ignored, her advisor fobbed off with a series of increasingly less-convincing excuses. Even though her efforts had proved successful, and her work would be on display in a couple of hours, she still couldn't help feeling guilty about deserting the slender salamander. Her distraction from her distraction would be her downfall if she couldn't get her focus back soon.

  Right now, she needed to focus on getting cleaned up and dressed for the Showcase. She washed her brushes, then removed the paint off her hands and nails. Next, she took a quick shower and then raided her closet for something to wear. What did one wear to an art gallery? Something sophisticated. But she was also an artist showing at said gallery, so she needed to stand apart from the regular patrons. Bohemian chic seemed the only appropriate style. She dug out a knee-length navy blue linen skirt with a jaunty bow belt, and paired it with a fitted top with cap sleeves and a v-neck, in alternating black and white stripes. She finished off the ensemble with a pair of four-inch black heels with adorable black ribbons that tied around the ankle.

  She decided that a simple hairstyle would make the most dramatic statement. She straightened her thick red locks, which now fell below her shoulders, as straight as it would go, which meant a gentle wave remained. Feeling the artist vibe lately she'd had her bangs cut across her forehead at eyebrow level, and she styled them out now to lay straight across her forehead. Throw in a few clunky bracelets, a smoky eye, and nude lip, and she was ready to go.

  Janna checked herself in the mirror. Not for the first time she lamented that she didn't wear glasses. A trendy pair of chunky black frames would have taken this look to the next level. Oh well, she wasn't such a slave to fashion that she'd wear glasses just to complete an outfit. Another bonus, roomy pockets in the skirt, allowed her to ditch a clutch and stash her wallet, keys, and cell. And then i
t was time to go, and with one last glance around her crowded room, she headed downstairs.

  A couple of her fellow students whistled and applauded as she made her way towards the door. For a moment she regretted telling Jessica, the garrulous girl who had the room next to hers, that she'd be part of the showcase. The whole co-op now thought that she was a respected artist as well as a scientist. Janna nodded and bowed, a bright smile on her face. She might be older than the average grad student, but she knew how to make an impact.

  Pulling up to the gallery twenty minutes later made her wish the Volvo wasn't as ancient and unremarkable as it was. There was already a small crowd on the sidewalk outside the gallery, and she was embarrassed at her pitiful ride as she hurried to parallel park and hit the relative anonymity of the sidewalk. Soon she was inside, squeezing past other artists, sophisticates and would-be sophisticates, critics, hipsters, and lookyloos. She made her way towards the small table holding glasses of wine and what appeared to be exotic cheeses. Janna picked up a glass of chardonnay but skipped the cheeses, not willing to risk a breath that smelled like gouda.

  As she sipped from her wine glass, her eyes swept the room, excitement warring with anxiety in her stomach. She'd always thought art galleries were the realm of the wealthy and elite, or those with true talent and taste. She didn't consider herself any of those things, but it was still exhilarating to float in circles with ones who did fit the description. And yet, as often happened when she wormed her way into places that her inner voice told her she didn't belong, she felt disappointed by the reality, and by her desire to imitate those around her in the first place.