The S Before Ex

by Mira Lyn Kelly

  Because she would still see him.

  “What is it now?”

  You. Me. Us. “It’s been a long day. What do you say we call it and get a fresh start in the morning?”

  “Long day? Are you kidding, Claire?” A pen clattered over the tabletop behind her, followed by the scrape of a chair across the floor. “We started late so you’d be able to rest, and you’ve spent half your time here tied to that phone. How do you think we’re going to get through all this in one week when we didn’t get through one-twelfth of it today?”

  “I’m sorry.” She was. This was his time as well as her own and neither of them had any to waste—except she simply didn’t have a choice. “But we’re not going to get through it if I can’t concentrate. And I can’t.”

  He was beside her now. Frustration and concern warring in his eyes. “Are you hungry? I’ll have dinner delivered. What do you want, steak, pasta?”

  Holding up a hand, she warded off yet another attempt to stuff her. Bagels, cream cheese and smoked salmon had been waiting when she’d arrived. Fresh fruit and scones on offer all morning. Lunch had been burgers from the local grill down a few blocks from her hotel. And then there were the smoothies and antipasto trays brought in. She’d eaten. Plenty.

  “No, thank you. All I need is another night’s sleep.”

  It would be enough. And then she’d be back in control. Able to focus. To work. To ignore the lure of Ryan, two feet away from her.

  “How ’bout we take a break instead. Get back to it in, say, ten?”

  Claire cast him a doubtful look, but got distracted by the thick column of his neck and the way his open collar revealed just enough to make her want to see more.

  Yeah, a break wasn’t going to cut it.

  Scrunching her eyes closed, she pressed a wrist to her temple where a dull ache had taken root. What was she doing? Eyeing him as if he held the key to a lock she’d thought secured forever. As if he were the key.

  It was self-destructive on the basest level.

  Why did it have to be him? Why after all the years of waiting for her heart and body to wake up and take a breath—did this first one have to be the long draw of Ryan Brady? And why couldn’t she ignore it?

  The air shifted and then he was touching her, his strong fingers sliding over the tender muscles in her neck. She froze in place, the air growing stale in her lungs as panic crept over her. “Don’t.”

  “Aw, Claire, you’ve got to relax.”

  But how could she when he was so close the heat of his body penetrated her blouse, and his breath stirred the fine hairs behind her ears, sending chills sheeting across her skin as he muttered gruffly, “Come on, honey.”

  Gathering the hair at the nape of her neck into one hand, he twisted the mass and pulled it aside in a move so poignantly familiar she half believed if she were to turn around, she’d find the man she married staring down into her eyes with all the love time and fate had washed away still shining there.

  What a fool she was. But not fool enough to turn and face the reality.

  “No.” Abruptly she tried to shove his hands away.

  But just as quickly he caught her wrists, stilling her defensive efforts. “Stop.”

  Then slowly he pushed her resistant arms to her sides and held them steady until she gave in.

  Quietly at her ear, “Just relax.”

  Her heart beat wildly in her chest. God, this was a mistake. He didn’t know what he was doing to her—how long it had been since she’d had to contend with sensations like the ones threatening to overtake her. Making her hot. Making her ache for something beyond reach. Making her wonder if finally—

  She couldn’t handle it.

  “Ryan,” she pleaded, caught somewhere between panic and desperation.

  “I know this is hard,” he urged, his voice low and deep. Understanding, though she was certain he couldn’t. “I know I didn’t give you any time to prepare for this—us being together. But the sooner we finish, the sooner we can move on. You get back to your life. I get back to mine. Free and clear.”

  His thumbs pressed firm at the base of her skull, hitting a pressure point that, as right as it was, bordered on pain. “That’s what we both want, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” She drew a long breath in through her nose and then, releasing it slowly, broke away from his hold. She didn’t like being out of control. Didn’t like the vulnerability. It was too much a reminder of what her life had been before. And rational or not, she resented Ryan for making her feel that way. “But a break isn’t going to cut it. I’m leaving.”

  “What, do you have another date?” The frustration in Ryan’s voice had her turning on him with a glare. She was too edgy for this.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, but speaking of dates, if you’re so hot for company, by all means, call up yours. Or is the affair ‘off again’ this week?”

  The corner of Ryan’s mouth twisted to the side, his brows drawing down. “Why do you want to know?”

  God, what was she thinking bringing Dahlia up like that? “I don’t.”

  She didn’t. Really, she didn’t. Which was good, since he hadn’t bothered to answer her.

  “Look, I don’t need your permission to leave and I’m not asking for it. As a courtesy, I’m explaining. I need to unwind.”

  “Right, because counting your money is so very taxing.” He shoved a rough hand through his hair, shook his head and then speared her with a pointed stare. “You need to get serious about this.”

  Of all the nerve— “More serious than dropping my plans on a dime to accommodate a man I haven’t laid eyes on in years. More serious than that, Ryan?”

  If she’d been expecting him to back down or look contrite, it wasn’t happening. “Damn straight. Starting with you actually sitting down with me for more than twenty-seven minutes at a stretch. Seriously, I’m stunned. Between your inability to focus and the imbeciles you’ve got calling every hour, I don’t know how that gallery stays afloat. All hail dumb luck.”

  Claire’s chin snapped back; her vision went red.

  “Yeah, it’s a real miracle I can keep the doors open, isn’t it. Thank goodness I’m here with Midas. Do you think you could pencil in a few minutes to save me? Or are you booked on ego strokes this next week? Screw off, Ryan.”

  Ryan swiped at the air, knocking her snide comeback aside. “Jesus, Claire, I’m trying to help you.”

  Right. Leaning into his space, she glared into his eyes. “Has it ever occurred to you that I don’t want your help? That I don’t want anything from you at all?”

  Ryan stared in blatant disbelief as her arms locked straight at her sides.

  Was she serious?

  His jaw ground down in a battle for restraint. A losing battle. To hell with restraint. He gave up and gave in to the hot tide of anger blistering through his veins. “Gee-whiz, Claire. Yeah, I think it may have occurred to me. A few times, in fact. Let’s see, first, when you stopped talking to me. I might have gotten a clue then, and maybe another when you announced you were going back to school half a country away. But, gosh, honey, I think what really drove the point home for me, was the phone call saying you weren’t coming back. Ever.

  “So, yes, I have a very clear idea of what you don’t want. But that doesn’t change the fact that if I want to be free of you, I need to know I did right. That I’ve met my responsibilities. That you have what’s yours. Only, for you to actually get it, you need my help!”

  The breath beat in and out of his chest in violent draws.

  What the hell was he doing yelling at her?

  He needed Claire compliant. On board with his plan to knuckle down to keep working. And yet he’d drawn first blood. Delivered the low blow about the gallery when he’d known it was bull. Because he was pissed. At a situation that wasn’t playing the way he’d planned. At Claire for being so damn different. At himself for about a hundred reasons starting with him being the kind of small bastard that couldn’t handle it when his ex p
rioritized her own goals above his, and ending with his apparent inability to keep his head out of her cotton-candy-pink panties.

  Damn it, he was thinking about them again—thinking about cotton candy and this new attitude Claire was wearing and how they went just right together. How they made him want to pull her into his arms and take a lick.

  Only then she was leaning into him, her finger jabbing at the air with each word spat. “You want to be finished with me?”

  At that moment he didn’t know what the hell he wanted. Except, suddenly, clearly, he knew he wanted more of this. More of Claire’s hot temper and sharp jabs. More of her fight.

  “Well, news flash, Ryan, I want to be finished with you too. I want to walk away and know that my life is no one’s but my own. That the only accommodations I make are on my terms. That my past is just that—in the past. I don’t need your judgment. I don’t want your advice. And I don’t like your implication that I’m incapable of taking care of myself.”

  God, she was hot. Feeding his temper and making him burn. “Is that all you’ve got?”

  He didn’t have to wait for her answer to know the answer to that one.

  Bring it on, beautiful.

  “You want more? How about this, I’m sick of seeing your face splashed across every rag to hit the newsstands and thinking, ‘Gee, there’s my husband and his new lay! Gorgeous couple!’ I hate being the only one who knows whether you’ve secretly tied the knot with your starlet—because I’m the only one who knows you can’t! You’re still married to me!”

  She was fired up. Cheeks a hot red as she read him the riot act. Pulse hammering in the hollow against her neck. Eyes flashing challenge like a red flag in his face. She was vital. Alive. Engaged with him on a level they’d never shared before. Giving as good as she got, showing him how tough she’d become. That she wouldn’t shatter if he handled her wrong.

  His hands clenched at his sides. Everything about her said willful. Strong. Defiant. Everything in that moment called to him in a way he knew he ought to ignore, but just couldn’t goddamn manage to.

  The urge to push back rose reckless and unstoppable within him.

  “That’s rich, coming from Little Miss Roman Holiday,” he retorted. Hey, she’d gone there first, throwing Dahlia in his face. “What was that guy’s name again? Paulo, Pedro—oh, that’s right. You don’t know.”

  Claire’s crystalline blues narrowed on him, sharpening focus in a way that cut straight through the part of his soul she’d once staked as her own. It shouldn’t have felt good. He shouldn’t have liked it. But after two days of make-nice manners, reined-in emotions and ironclad control, giving in to a battle of barbs with Claire was just the outlet he needed.

  Based on the way she’d been coming back at him, and that gleam in her eyes, she needed it too.

  “What exactly went wrong back there, Claire?” Closing in on her, he lowered his voice into a rumbling taunt. “You realize that chump couldn’t give you what you wanted?”

  “Go to hell.”

  Oh, if looks could kill, his little Claire would be looking for a no-extradition country right now. Only, she wasn’t taking advantage of the chest he’d positioned within fist-hammering distance. Yet. “Did someone spoil you, baby?”

  That did it. Her eyes went wide with shock, outrage and fury as her hand swung up to slap him. “You smug son of a—”

  He caught her wrist an inch from his face, snagged the other before she could think to use it. Hell, yes. This was what he wanted. Claire, past polite. Past control. Mad enough she couldn’t hide behind some mask of cool indifference. Mad enough to come at him with everything she had, let him see exactly who she’d become.

  “Ah-ah,” he scolded, holding both arms firm at her sides as he backed her to the wall. “It’s not nice to hit.”

  Mad enough where that hot temper fueled more than fight in both of them.

  That’s what had happened. This wasn’t just blowing off steam.

  Not for him.

  Not for her.

  Claire struggled against him once, a halfhearted tug that quit almost before it began. Her eyes skirted from his mouth to his chest, lower, and then back again. Her breath came in rapid pants that pulled the gauzy fabric of her top tight with each draw.

  Her nipples were hard and all he could think was the way they’d feel against his tongue.

  “Let me go,” she whispered.

  Breaking the loose circle of his fingers, he brushed his thumb across that so-soft pulse point at her wrist.

  He wanted her. But she’d told him to let her go. “Is that what you want?”

  Her eyes searched his, the dark of her pupils going wide and deep. Revealing more, he was sure, than she found. All that hot aggression had shifted, exposing the tumult of emotions beneath. She was nervous. Unsure. Excited and aroused.

  “I don’t know,” she answered, her words catching in a breathy, quiet laugh.

  “Liar,” he growled into the hair at the top of her head. If she’d said yes, he would have. He’d be across the room working his brain out of her panties and into the inner workings of his garbage disposal, if that’s what it took.

  But she hadn’t. And she did know.

  Claire’s pulse beat in frantic rhythm with the chaos of her thoughts. This was insanity, out-and-out stupidity if she were taking any of the onus on herself. She’d been watching Ryan’s every move for two days now, the heavy weight of desire building low in the pit of her belly. But she’d fought it. Shoved those hungry questions aside and tried to focus on what they were doing. Because what they were doing was working out their divorce. And because she’d thought she was the only one. But now…the tension weighing the briny sea air between them was unmistakable.

  “Ryan, what is this? What are we doing?”

  The fingers at her wrists skimmed outward until they threaded through hers. Slowly he drew her arms up, pinning their interlaced hands beside her head on the wall. Dark eyes roamed her features and form. Pierced the charged air vibrating between their unmet bodies.

  “Giving in. To something we both want.” He rocked into that empty space in a tease that hinted at contact but didn’t deliver. Made her ache for it. “Something long overdue. Don’t you think?”

  “I can’t think.” Not with his big body so close that the heat of it slipped beneath her skin, turning her belly molten.

  One corner of those beautiful, oh-so-very-male lips turned up, and then, as always, Ryan offered the perfect solution. “Then don’t.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DON’T think.

  How could she? Rational thought and conscious decision were beyond her. Annihilated by the immediate, hard press of muscle and man—familiar and foreign all at once—and the harder press of Ryan’s mouth upon hers. Parting her lips beneath the crush of a kiss that was dominating and devastating and left her quivering, pinned between the wall and everything she shouldn’t want.

  Oh, God, how long since she’d been kissed like this, since any man had gotten close enough to kiss her at all? She’d forgotten the ecstasy of it. Of Ryan. Hot and insistent, sliding into her mouth, stroking over her teeth and tongue.

  Sharing the taste and texture of his need.

  So good. It was so good, she didn’t want to think.

  Except that wasn’t how she worked anymore. It wasn’t who she was.

  So then what was she doing winding her arms around his neck and holding on as if she’d never let go, aching for more of that fleeting perfection she hadn’t experienced in so very long, and opening wider to the kiss she shouldn’t accept. All the while knowing the remnants of a marriage that never should have been lay cluttering the table behind them.

  It was crazy, and yet, from the very first, she’d been weakening. Making excuses. Trying to deny the undeniable. She wanted him.

  She wanted the taste of him in her mouth. The press of him over her body. She wanted what she’d thought she lost forever. She wanted it one last time. And she wanted it ton
ight.

  One night.

  Not enough time to get hurt or invest feelings that neither of them wanted or could afford.

  Just long enough to set her free.

  The breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding escaped in a rush. And then she was pressing into him. Arching her back so her shoulders braced the wall and her breasts rubbed his chest. Sucking at his lips and tongue, begging him for more.

  His hands skimmed her waist, following the rise of her ribs until he’d covered the swells of her breasts between them, voicing his satisfaction with a deep rumble that filled her mouth.

  Her hands fisted against his shirt as a needy plea escaped her. More. Everything. Please. Now.

  Only then he stopped. His strong fingers shaped her jaw, tipping her face to the taut features of his. “Look at me, Claire. If there’s even a chance you don’t want this, stop me now.”

  She could barely breathe for wanting him so badly. There was no stopping. Not now.

  He must have read the answer in her eyes though, because his mouth slammed down over hers, his tongue plunging hard and deep, retreating and driving in again. Hoisting her from her feet, he pulled her thighs to his hips, fitting them together in a way that was almost perfect, before he backed her across the room.

  She couldn’t get enough. Her hands were in his hair, pulling at his clothes, running over the muscles that bunched and flexed beneath the touch of her hands.

  It shouldn’t be Ryan. She wished it wasn’t. Wished it had been any one of the decent men over the years who’d vied for her attention and walked away without success. But it wasn’t.

  It was Ryan. Only Ryan who held that last elusive piece to the life she so desperately needed to rebuild. That piece she’d thought lost forever.

  This had to be a mistake. Deep down, Ryan knew it was. It wasn’t possible to get this close to an inferno without getting burned, but the heat between them was so damn good. So hot. So out of control.

  So beyond anything he’d had since before—

  Don’t think about it. Not now. Not like this. Not when she was blazing in his arms, over his body, and threatening to turn him inside out.