I focus on the crunching of fresh snow beneath our feet as we slowly walk back to his truck. I hadn’t even realized we walked so far down the driveway.
Leaning closer to Ryan, I shove my hand deeper into my coat pocket and try not to think about how numb my fingertips are.
When we finally reach the truck, he opens the passenger door for me, and helps me inside. The moment the door closes, I huddle into myself. Getting in the driver’s side, he starts the engine and blasts the heat straight away. When it starts to warm, I place my hands in front of the vents, trying to defrost them.
“They’re not getting warm,” I tell him, my teeth clattering.
“Come here,” he says, grabbing my hands and bringing them to his lips. Blowing on them, he rubs my hands between his, the blood starting to flow again under his touch. “Better?” he whispers, his lips brushing against my fingers.
“Mhmm.” I hum.
“Can’t have you losing any of those fingers.”
“No. They serve a lot of uses.” I smile and wink at him.
Laughing, he lets go and puts the truck in drive, and we start our slow trek down the driveway.
Lowering the plow, Ryan moves the snow from our path. When we get to the end of the driveway, I look in both directions, and see nothing but blinding white.
“Are you sure we can make it?” I ask nervously. “I don’t want to get stuck.”
“We’ll be fine. Trust me.”
“Okay.” I nod, but I’m still doubtful. Even with the plow shovel attached to the front, we’re still only in a pickup truck.
Patting my leg, he flashes me a smile, his eyes bright like a kid on Christmas morning. “It’ll be fun.”
Returning his smile, I shake my head. Boys and their toys.
Revving the engine, Ryan pushes forward, the snow moving away from us like we’re a boat cutting through the water. It flows to the side as we make our way down the road, a huge smile on my face.
“Holy shit, Ryan! This is awesome!”
Laughing, his smile is almost as blinding as the snow. “I know.”
Turning around in my seat, I look back at the path we’ve cut through the road, and am in awe at how much snow has accumulated. It’s definitely well over a foot by now. And it’s still snowing.
We slowly make our way towards town, only having to stop and readjust the plow a few times on turns. I honestly didn’t think the man could be sexier than when he’s in sheriff mode–but I was wrong. Trucker mode is just as sexy in my opinion.
I still feel like we’re in our own world, just making our way through the streets of another planet where we’re the only residents.
There’s literally no one else out here but us.
“If we get stranded, no one would know for days.”
“Well, let’s not get stranded then.” He smiles, looking over at me.
“I’m just saying.” I shrug.
“But then again, we could just keep each other warm while we waited.” He winks, and I roll my eyes.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just focus on the road.”
“Whatever you say,” he replies, the smile in his voice evident.
When we finally make it into town, I don’t know why I expected the stores on Main Street to be open, but I’m surprised to see that everything is closed.
“Well, what now? Everything is closed.”
“Ash, did you think they’d be open?”
“I don’t know. But I need coffee and food in me soon, or things might get violent.”
“I have ways of restraining you if you get too wild, sweetheart.” He smirks.
A chill runs down my spine at the thought of Ryan handcuffing me–to a bed, a chair, or anything really. I think I’d like it, actually. Being at his mercy.
Seeing my reaction, Ryan tightens his grip on the steering wheel and pushes on, turning down a side street off of Main.
“You live so close to town.”
“Yeah. So I’ll be close in case you need me while I’m at work.”
“I can take care of myself. You realize you’re just taking me from one empty house to another, right?”
“Mine has power and hot water, though,” he says simply, and I sigh loudly, crossing my arms over my chest.
I don’t like the idea of being cooped up in his house. I want to be able to leave. I want to be able to breathe in air that I know isn’t filled with the scent of the sexy sheriff. And I sure as hell don’t want to feel like a damsel in distress.
With a little difficulty, Ryan plows his way into where I’m assuming a driveway normally resides.
“This is your house?”
I definitely wasn’t expecting something so…normal? A two-storied, white colonial styled house with black shutters, sits in a sea of snow between red and tan houses. Bushes line the front of his house on either side of the small, roofed–in front door, and two large snow-covered pine trees sit on either side of the house.
It’s beautiful.
“Yes. Did you expect something different?”
“Kind of. But I like it.”
“Good. Now just wait here and I’ll shovel a path to the side door.”
Jumping out of the truck before I have time to protest, Ryan grabs a shovel from the back of the truck and gets to work.
I don’t want him to think I’m not incapable of some manual labor. But…I really don’t feel like shoveling over a foot and a half of snow right now. So, I think I’ll just stay in the warm truck and watch as he does all the work.
It’s not a bad view.
Chapter 10
Walking through the side door, I step into the laundry/mud room, and then right into a big kitchen with dark hardwood floors, white cabinets, and sand colored granite countertops. The walls are painted a light beige, and the backsplash running above the counterspace, farm sink, and stove, is white tile that’s arranged in a chevron pattern.
I’m impressed with the simple, charming, style. I would never have expected this from a man like Ryan.
Following him through the kitchen, we step into the living room where there’s a fireplace on one wall with a huge flat screen TV hanging above it. One either side of that, built-ins take up the rest of the wall and are filled with books and pictures of Ryan and his family.
A pang of jealously hits my chest when I see their happy smiles and arms around one another.
A complete family.
Something I haven’t had in a long time.
Looking away, I take in the rest of the room. A brown leather couch sits facing the fireplace with a dark wooden table in front of it that’s covered in outdoorsy magazines, and two chairs face each other across the length of the table with plaid throw pillows on them.
The windows looking out to the front yard are frosted over, but I can see the tops of the snow-covered bushes beneath the sill. It’s such a warm and inviting living room that looks perfect to sit and read while curled up by the fireplace as the snow falls.
“I like it all.” I smile at Ryan, knowing he’s been watching me this entire time.
A small smile tugs at his lips and he nods, continuing to walk through the house. I follow him around to the foyer, where there’s French doors to the right of the front door, and a large staircase straight ahead. Heading up the stairs to the second floor, we walk down the hallway, and he opens a door on the right to reveal a bedroom.
“You can have this room,” he tells me, and I step inside.
The walls are painted an off-white, with pictures of the ocean and coastlines hanging on the walls. A queen bed sits in the middle of the far wall with a wrought iron frame and a tan and white striped comforter. The tables on either side of the bed match the dresser that’s by the door, a blue and white swirled rug that resembles the ocean covers most of the wooden floor, and a small desk sits under the windows, looking out to the front yard.
“It’s pretty, thank you.”
“The bathroom is right down the hall. I’ll show you.”
Fol
lowing him, he opens the last door on the left, and I step inside, noticing the white, tan, and blue color scheme flows into here as well. White walls and blue accents showcase the framed pictures of the ocean on the wall. They all remind me of his eyes.
“So, where’s your room?” I ask, deciding to take this tour up a notch.
He lifts his chin to the last door at the end of the hall. “Right there.”
Stepping past him, I grab the knob and turn it, pushing it open. And damn, I’m surprised.
Dark navy walls are highlighted by heavy, dark grey fabric curtains, and framed images of angry, storming seas. A huge–and I mean huge–bed, sits right in front of me, and takes up most of that the one wall. A navy comforter covers the bed, and white pillows rest against a dark grey leather headboard. Two dark wooden dressers sit against one wall, with a half-open closet door next to them.
“This room feels the most like you.” It’s very masculine, and I love it. It’s dark and sexy. A lot like him.
“It does?”
“Yes. It’s different from the rest of the house, but I can tell it’s all you. This is your space.” Turning towards him, I catch a little heated flare in his eyes before he turns away and looks out the window.
“Let’s go back downstairs. I’ll bring your bags in and make you coffee. Then I have to get to work.”
“Sure.” Walking out of his room, he closes the door behind us, and I lead the way back down the hall.
“What do you do when there’s a blizzard? You don’t just patrol around, do you?” I don’t know why, but that thought makes my heart beat a little faster. What if he got stuck and needed help? Who would save him when he’s the one always saving everyone?
“Are you worried about me, sweetheart?” he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“No,” I say quickly. “I just think it’s a little dangerous if that’s what you intend to do.”
“I don’t,” he assures me as we descend the stairs.
“But it also seems like a waste of taxpayer money for you to be sitting and eating donuts behind a desk, doing nothing.”
His laugh behind me echoes in my ears–a deep, musical laugh that I want to hear more of. Closing the distance between us, Ryan places his hand on my lower back, and I can feel his touch through my clothes–searing me, branding me.
“Okay, I won’t do that, then. I’ll just have to think of another way to fill my time. Maybe I’ll just make a list of all the ways I want to take you when I get home later.”
My breath hitches, and a shiver runs down my spine at his words. Heat pools in my core, and my brain gets foggy with all the images of Ryan and I all over his house. The kitchen, the living room, the stairs, and finally, in that massive bed of his.
“Is that why I’m here?” I ask, breathless.
“You’re here because I want you here, Ashley,” he whispers in my ear.
Kissing me behind my ear, heat blooms from that spot, traveling down to my chest. The tight grip I have on my control around Ryan loosens just a fraction.
“Come on, sweetheart, let me make you coffee.” He walks ahead, but I stay planted where I am, trying to regain my composure.
“I said don’t call me that.” Stopping, he turns to look at me, a small smile on his lips. My voice gave away that I don’t really mean those words.
“Get used to it, sweetheart.” He smirks, continuing on into the kitchen, leaving me to stare after him.
Taking a deep breath, I let my feet carry me the rest of the way, and I take a seat in a chair at the small wooden table in the corner. Being in Ryan’s home, and in his space, makes me feel like I’m handing over a little more of my control. It’s like being thrown into the lion’s den, and Ryan is the big, bad lion that’s hunting down his lioness.
I don’t know what’s going on with me. I feel like I’m going crazy.
“Here you go,” he says, placing a mug of hot coffee in front of me, startling me out of my thoughts.
I reach out blindly for the mug and take a sip, letting the hot, sweet liquid slide down my throat.
Closing my eyes briefly, I feel the caffeine flowing through my body, waking me up.
“It’s perfect,” I whisper, taking another sip.
“I know.” He winks. “I’m going to go and get your bags.”
Watching him leave, I sigh a breath of relief, and sink down into the chair. I don’t know why I’m so on edge around him. Maybe I’m scared he’ll see too much. Or, maybe I’m scared he’ll realize I’m someone not worth his time.
Why does Ryan bring out all of my insecurities?
I’m a strong, confident woman. And he’s just a man.
I just need to keep reminding myself of those two facts.
When Ryan comes back in with my bags, he brings them right upstairs, and I don’t even bat an eye at how good he looks carrying my heavy bags. Okay, I do, but it’s when he comes back down fifteen minutes later, that I almost choke on my coffee.
Holy shit.
Raking my eyes down the entirety of his body, I take in all the glorious, sexy, powerfulness that is Sheriff Ryan Taylor.
It’s the first good look I’ve gotten of him like this. In the café, and last night, he had his coat on. And he wasn’t as put together last night as he is this morning. Plus, I was a little tipsy by the time he got there.
He’s tamed his hair so that the longer part on top is slicked back, and his freshly shaven is face has my fingers itching to feel the smooth skin beneath.
And that uniform, my God. Dark brown pants with a stripe on either side do nothing to hide his powerful thighs underneath, and the khaki colored long sleeved shirt hugs his chiseled chest and arms like it was tailored for him. The badge on his chest shines like it was just polished, and the pins on his collar, and patches on his sleeves, all add to the hotness. He’s so official. I would totally break the law just so he could arrest me.
If he wanted to, he could make me do just about anything while in that uniform.
I meet his eyes, and they’re molten. He knows I’m appreciating him right now, and I’m not ashamed.
“Where’s your…uh”–I clear my throat and wave my hand at his belt area–“gun and cuffs and stuff?”
Smirking, Ryan walks over to the coffee pot and pours himself a travel mug. “My duty belt is in the truck. I have it locked in the safe.”
“You have a safe in your truck?”
“Yeah. It’s in the floor on the passenger side. I put it in there before coming to you yesterday.”
“Oh.” I guess he didn’t want to scare me or something.
“You can call me if you need me. I’ll leave my number here,” he says, writing it on a notepad on the counter.
“Okay.” I nod.
“Make yourself at home, sweetheart.” He smiles. “I’ll be back after six.”
“Alright. Be safe.”
He was putting a lid on his travel mug, but pauses and looks over at me with a surprised look in his eyes. “I will.”
Watching him walk out of the kitchen and towards the side door we came in earlier, I feel a twinge of loss, and I hate that. I don’t want to feel this attached this fast.
I really do want him to be safe, though. It’s still snowing, and he’s going back out there. Anything could happen. He could get stuck in the snow, or crash into a tree and freeze to death without anyone even knowing he needed help.
Oh my God. Fucking relax, Ashley. He knows what he’s doing.
Bringing the mug to my lips with shaky hands, I take a sip, hoping it’ll calm my nerves, but it doesn’t. I’m going to need something to distract myself with until after six, or else I’m going to go crazy thinking about Ryan out there.
I’m cold again. I feel perpetually cold. No matter what, I feel it seep into my bones. It was only when Ryan was around that I actually felt warm.
I look over at the clock on the wall, and groan, leaning forward to bang my head on the table. It’s only eight in the morning.
/> Letting out a frustrated sigh, I drain the rest of my coffee and pour myself another cup before wandering into the living room. Scanning his bookshelves, I find he has a lot of classics, both literature and poetry. There’s Austen, Hardy, Brontë, Dickens, Eliot, Keats, Yeats, Emerson, Whitman, and Wordsworth. Wow, and that’s just this shelf.
Ryan’s a collector, and very well-read. I’m impressed.
Running my fingers across the spines of the beautiful old books, I pull out one with a dark green spine and gold script–a collection of Keats’ poetry. When I was in college, I took an elective that was strictly his work, and I loved it. But I haven’t read anything of his since.
Placing my mug down on the coffee table, I take a seat in one of the big armchairs, folding my feet under me, and pulling the blanket from behind me to drape it over my legs.
I remember having to read more than just Keats’ poems. We read letters he wrote to fellow poets and his love letters to Fanny Brawne. It was in those that I fell in love with Keats’ work. I think humanizing him, and seeing a peek into his real-life romance, made everything he wrote relevant and pack a better punch to the heart for me.
Sipping my coffee, I get lost in his words. And when I get to one of my favorites, I smile, thinking about how it must feel to be so in love like that. Keats writes of choosing three perfect days of love and bliss over a lifetime of mundane and common love. It makes me think. Would I rather have those three days of true love? Or have a lifetime of a lesser love?
I would like to think that I’d choose the three days, but then I’d have to spend the rest of my life feeling lonely. Or, I could have a lifetime of safe love, and never know that I was missing something better–passion and fire.
Closing the book, I stare at the bookshelves and shake my head. I don’t know why it matters. It’s not like I’d ever have to make that choice, or be faced with those options.
I only want burning passion for my entire life. I want a love so deep, that’s it’s in me forever. I want my soul branded by that kind of love.
Sighing, I stand up and stretch. I need to not read this. Now my mind is all over the place, thinking about love and shit.
Her Maine Reaction Page 10
