Challenging Andie

by Sally Clements

  “I’ll send you the details.” Laila opened her arms wide. “Now, I should go and circulate.” She enveloped Andie in a warm hug. “Take care, my dear.”

  With a quick smile Ryan’s direction, she glided through the glass doors, back into the throng.

  “You can’t go, you know.”

  If he’d stayed silent, she could have squashed her response back inside until they got home. Not now. “There’s nothing to stop me from going.” She stepped away and rested her hands on the balustrade.

  With quick strides he was at her side. “I can stop you from going.” His chin jutted. “It isn’t safe.”

  “Yet it’s safe enough for you?” she fired back.

  “I’m different. I’m used to it. I understand the dangers. You’re an innocent with no idea what chaos you’d walk into in a different country in the grip of revolution.” His hand grasped her upper arm. “Look at me, dammit.”

  Andie gasped and pulled her arm away.

  His eyes glittered. His other hand was clenched into a fist, and his entire body was stiff with tension.

  “Don’t treat me like a child, Ryan. You and I are having an affair, nothing more. One that has a definite expiry date—that’s getting closer by the minute. You’re intending to go back, aren’t you? And when you do this affair will be over. You don’t have the right to dictate to me where I should go, or who I should see.”

  She crossed her arms.

  Ryan ran a hand through his hair. “Affair or not, I care for you, Andie.” His voice softened. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  Andie smoothed her hands over the long skirt of her dress. The sinking feeling inside was like a balloon deflating. If he’d felt that this fling was more, now would have been the time to say so, but instead all he’d professed was that he cared.

  It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t near enough.

  Anger dissipated, replaced with a keen sadness of the knowledge that despite the shields she’d erected to keep Ryan on the outside of her heart, somehow, when she wasn’t paying attention, she’d lowered the shields and tossed them away, allowing him to enter.

  She was in love with a man who could never love her back.

  She reached up and touched a finger to his lips. “Well, don’t look.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Dust gritted Ryan’s eyes as he watched the chaos unfold. The arid air dried his throat, and the sound of rapid-fire filled his ears.

  “Stop.”

  Ryan turned at the guttural mutter. Behind him, a shadowy figure pointed a battered rifle. Directly at his chest. Heat flashed, and a bead of sweat trickled down his spine. This was it, then. His end. Weren’t you supposed to have an inner reel play at this moment? Of the life you’d led, the experiences that had meant something? Or was that when your life was actually ebbing away. A vision of Andie filled Ryan’s mind. He struggled for breath, breathing only her distinctive perfume, and struggled without success to raise his arms in surrender.

  “No—I’m not ready.” His throat ached with the effort of shouting the words as the gunman brought the rifle sight to his eye and took aim.

  “Ryan, wake up.” Andie. How could she be here?

  “Ryan.” He felt a tug on his arm, then another. “Wake up.”

  His head spun as the dream cleared. He blinked and rubbed an arm over his eyes.

  The bedside light clicked on, sending the dream demons scurrying for cover.

  “It was just a dream,” Andie whispered. She smoothed a hand over his brow. “You’re safe now.”

  Words backed up in his throat as he stared up. Her hair fell in a straight curtain, dusting his chest. One hand stroked over the side of his face. The look of compassionate concern in her sky-blue eyes warmed him, deep inside.

  He reached for her nape, pulled her down to his mouth, and kissed her like a man reprieved from a death sentence.

  Ryan threw back the constricting sheet, and pulled her silk clad body onto his. His arms slid around her, and with rapid movements, he grasped the edge of the nightgown and pulled it up over her head. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly with her breath, and he rubbed his head against her collarbone.

  When they’d come back from the party, she’d been distant, and he’d been too angry at the thought of her travelling to Bekostan to try to reconnect. She’d said their romance had an expiry date. She was right. There was no way a long distance romance could flourish. She had a life and job here—one that didn’t involve him.

  He’d nodded when she announced coldly that she was moving into the other bedroom. Hadn’t tried to stop her as she’d flounced from the room and up the stairs.

  Instead, he’d pulled the half bottle of vodka out of the freezer, and mixed himself a drink. The fact was he was heading back to Bekostan earlier than anticipated. Arnat wanted to do the interview on Friday, which meant he’d have to rearrange Brianne’s visit, and fly out on Thursday. Once he’d gone, Andie would return to her life.

  The after-effects of the nightmare had rewritten that future. He couldn’t bear to let his visit to Bekostan be the end of their relationship. He needed her. The realization tangled in his gut, sent him into a cold sweat. He wanted her with a longing that overrode logic, scrambled his resolve to never, ever let someone into his heart. They needed more time together. Time to allow this crazy relationship to lessen in intensity, burn itself out. There was no way to lock the two mismatched jigsaw pieces of their lives together, but it wasn’t yet over, not by a long shot.

  Ryan cupped Andie’s breasts, and her long legs parted to accept him.

  Warm lips trailed down his neck. Thinking was too hard. There was no way he could analyze up a solution, not while he reacted to her touch like a man with his arms around a woman after long months of celibacy.

  What was it about her that made him a slave to her gentle touch, so attuned to every fleeting emotion that flickered across her expressive eyes? She was an addiction he couldn’t break. Perhaps in time, the flame would burn out, but with mere days left before his departure, it blazed strongly, threatening to engulf him.

  The next morning, Ryan carefully disentangled himself from Andie’s arms and slipped out of bed. He pulled on a robe, and took the stairs two at a time, spread bacon slices beneath the grill, and started to butter bread, while the coffee machine dripped.

  There’d been no talking between them through a long night full of lovemaking. Hopefully, she’d decided to drop the ridiculous assertion she might join Laila in Bekostan. If not, he would quickly dissuade her of it. After he’d done the interview, he’d return to England, and they could continue their affair.

  Keeping one eye on the crisping bacon, he called Brianne.

  “Hey, Ry.” Her bright breezy voice lifted his spirits. “What’s up?”

  “Can you come down earlier?”

  “Dying to see me, huh? Yes, that should be no problem. How come?”

  “I might have to leave earlier than I’d thought.”

  There was silence for a long moment. “Oh.” Brianne’s voice was laced with disappointment.

  She was probably looking forward to a weekend in the country, but there was no reason why she shouldn’t stay, even if he had to leave.

  “Right. I have some holiday coming, and no money to fly off anywhere hot, so maybe I’ll come down tonight.”

  Having Brianne around would ease any residual tension between him and Andie too. Ryan pulled out the grill to stop the bacon from burning. His stomach growled. “That’s great, Bri.” He felt a smile tug at his lips. He’d make things good with Andie, catch up with his sister, then head out to capture the interview of his career. All within the week. “Looking forward to seeing you.”

  When he got back, he’d persuade Andie around to his point of view. Their relationship wouldn’t be over. Not until she was out of his system.

  *****

  So much for good intentions.

  Andie’s mouth watered as her nostrils filled with the smell of bacon. She stretched her
arms over her head in an exaggerated stretch, then curled in a fetal position in the middle of the large bed.

  Last night, she’d been determined to start disentangling her life from Ryan’s. If she’d been braver, she would have climbed into the car and headed home, but it was late, and truth be told, she hadn’t had the strength to walk away. It had seemed cowardly to just bolt. He wouldn’t want to hear how her feelings had changed. How she’d fallen in love with him, despite the fact that he was her worst nightmare personified.

  Another person who’d leave.

  When she’d heard the hoarse cry from the room next door, she’d instantly jolted awake, heart hammering. She’d shot out of bed, raced to find out what was wrong, and when she’d seen his bare chest covered in a faint sheen of sweat, and the tortured look of pain on his face, her heart had sped as quickly as her feet.

  All thoughts of distance had melted away. The moment he pulled her mouth down to his, the instinct to protect had been replaced with fierce, overwhelming need.

  Her feet flexed upward under the duvet. When they made love…she closed her eyes and remembered the slide of his body over hers. The soul-deep connection as their hands clasped together. The sensation of becoming one person as they found fulfillment in each other’s arms. The night had been a magical one she’d remember her entire life. No words had been spoken, but their lovemaking had transcended the physical.

  She threw back the duvet, and pulled on one of Ryan’s T-shirts, which covered her to mid-thigh. He was so tall, so big, so gorgeous, and he was all hers. For a while anyway. Why not just enjoy what was left of their time together? There was no way she could walk away. Yesterday’s plan of self-protection had one huge flaw—glaringly obvious in the light of day. There was no protection against love, and love flowed like blood through her veins, pumping its way to and from her heart. There’d be plenty of time for heartbreak. Not today. Today, she’d take a rain check.

  The varnished wooden stairs felt cold under her bare toes.

  He turned from the kitchen counter as she entered the room, looking even yummier than usual in a navy toweling robe. “There you are. I was just going to bring you a tray.”

  His sexy grin sent tingles through her body. Her nipples peaked.

  His gaze swept her, head to toe, and lingered. “You look much better in that T-shirt than I do,” he teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

  Andie smiled back. Pushed her chest out a little, enjoying the look of desire in his eyes. Playing was much more fun than mentally tearing their relationship apart. She let her hips sway as she walked forward. “So, what was going to be on that tray?” She glanced at the sandwich he’d plated and sniffed the air. “Bacon sandwich?”

  “Food of the gods,” Ryan snatched the coffee jug from the coffee machine. “With a cup of nectar of the gods to wash it down.”

  Andie’s stomach rumbled. Her mouth watered. “Yummy.”

  She sat down, picked up the bacon sandwich he put down in front of her, and chewed.

  “Did you sleep okay…” She cast him a glance. “After?”

  Ryan’s head jerked in a curt nod. “Yes, fine.” He put a plate before another place at the table with exaggerated care, avoiding her eyes.

  A sensible woman, reading the body language, would have left it alone. Andie was through with sensible; it had never got her anywhere. “Do you have those dreams often?” If he did, he needed to get some help. She might not be around for the long term, but couldn’t stand the thought of the pain he was obviously suffering. She touched his hand. “Because if you do, you could have post-traumatic stress, and my doctor says…”

  Ryan pulled his hand away. His face shuttered. “I’m not going to see any doctor. I’m fine.” His withdrawal brooked no argument. His jaw jutted, and his eyes flashed with a warning to just drop it.

  Andie’s hand crept back to her lap. So this was how a told-off child must feel. She tugged at the shirt hem, and crossed her ankles under the table, wishing he’d just change the subject if he was so determined not to talk about his problems.

  Her prayers were answered immediately.

  “There’s a change of plan for the week.” Ryan slipped onto a chair, revealing a flash of firm male skin as his robe gaped.

  A flush heated Andie’s face. Surely after all the hours she’d spent caressing every firm inch of that skin, she’d got over ogling him like a teenager?

  “Brianne is coming down tonight instead of Friday.” He poured coffee into two mugs and left the jug in the middle of the table.

  Puzzlement warred with disappointment that their time alone would be shortened even more than it already had been. She pushed her hair behind her ear. “Why?” Maybe Brianne was desperate to see her brother, but surely she could wait a couple of extra days…

  “I called and asked her to.” Ryan’s impassive face gave nothing away.

  Andie’s confidence took an impressive nosedive. He wanted Brianne to come early? Was he desperate to break up the intimacy blooming between them again? She put her sandwich down on the plate, peeled back the top slice of bread, and thumped the bottle of brown sauce into its contents, enjoying the opportunity to pummel an inanimate object.

  Ryan’s eyebrows rose. “I have to leave for Bekostan earlier than planned. On Thursday in fact.”

  “Thursday?” Her voice sounded high, and hurt. Andie bit down on her bottom lip. “When did you make that decision?”

  Ryan rubbed the back of his neck. “Last night. Arnat wants to do the interview on Friday, in Bekostan.”

  “Oh. Right.” Andie pushed the plate away, unable to countenance food while her stomach rolled and dipped with this new information. “I think I’ll go and get dressed.” Before he had a chance to stop her, to read the devastation that must be apparent in her face, she pushed the chair away, and darted upstairs.

  *****

  Crap, crap, and double crap.

  With one sentence, he’d done it again. Ryan cursed and drained his coffee. He’d meant to break the news of his imminent departure differently. Wanted to make her understand how important the interview was, how he had to go.

  His mind wandered back to her remembered expression.

  The look of hurt that shadowed her azure eyes turned a knife of guilt inside. He’d seen that look before, in his sister’s eyes. Why couldn’t the women in his life understand that he had a job to do, one he couldn’t just throw away because they wanted him to?

  He was damned if he was going to explain. She’d suggested that he might be having post-traumatic stress—doubtless another thing she could fix. He ground his teeth together. Okay, so maybe the dreams were getting out of hand but that didn’t mean he couldn’t handle it. He’d been handling it for years.

  He poured another cup of coffee, gaze lingering over the salt shaker in the middle of the table. The small piece of china was familiar. He lifted it, and rested its cold smoothness in the center of his palm, turning it around to examine it in greater detail. A tiny, navy toile shepherdess with a flock of sheep decorated the plain white surface.

  His fingers curled around the object, as memories slammed into him.

  His mother. He’d given this to his mother as a birthday gift when he was eleven.

  In heart shattering slo-mo, he was thrust back to that day, as if it were unfolding in real time. Mum, lying in the big bed he and Brianne climbed into every morning. Brianne pulling back the heavy curtain, allowing a beam of sunlight to slant across the bed and wake Mum from sleep. Their high, childish voices singing ‘Happy Birthday’ and the smile that spread across Mum’s face as they handed over badly wrapped presents and hand-drawn cards.

  She’d ripped the paper off, and sighed with pleasure as she rotated the tiny china ornament in her hand. “It’s beautiful, Ryan. Where did you find it?” Her voice was filled with warmth and wonder.

  He’d seen it in the window of the china shop in the village, and had been saving his pocket money for weeks to buy it for her. He’d forced away mem
ories of his mother’s smile, remembering only her heartbreak when his father had left. The forgotten fact was she’d been happy, alone with her children. She’d loved, and felt love in return. So long. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to remember. The pain of her loss pierced his chest, just as it had on that day when a stranger had arrived at the door to tell of her death.

  He groaned, and gripped the salt shaker tighter.

  He’d been kidding himself. Locking his memories in a box in his heart wasn’t dealing with the reality of his mother’s death, wasn’t mourning her. Neither was avoiding all talk of her with Brianne shielding her from heartache, but instead adding to the pain she must have suffered, blocking, as it did, the opportunity to grieve.

  He placed the shepherdess on the table. Pushed back the chair, and gripped its back with both hands. Andie was right. He needed to face the memories, not escape them. Until he did, he couldn’t move forward into the future.

  He climbed the stairs with heavy steps. Stood outside the bedroom door for a long moment, drawing upon his inner reserves before pushing it open.

  She was dressed in worn jeans that clung to her curves, and a T-shirt the color of cranberries. Her back was to him as she gazed out of the window onto the garden, with drooped shoulders.

  “Hey,” Ryan whispered, walking across the room to her side.

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  Christ, opening your heart was hard. He swallowed. “I’m an idiot.”

  Her gaze softened.

  “You were right, downstairs. I’ve been forcing any emotions I wasn’t prepared to deal with down for so long I didn’t want to acknowledge it. I didn’t believe it was a problem.” He rubbed his hand over his jaw, feeling the sharp prick of bristles against his knuckles. “I don’t like feeling vulnerable.”

  She walked close and slid her arms around his waist. “Being vulnerable doesn’t make you less of a man,” she murmured against his chest. “It makes you human.”