“Chelsea takes the early bus to school. It’s mostly for the childcare and transfer students. Our neighborhood mom squad shares bus stop duty so an adult always monitors them. After school is another issue, though. Her program closes at six on the dot. They charge a late pickup fee for every minute past closing time. That part can be tough—hoping public transportation schedules sync up and all.”
“We ride the subway!” Chelsea volunteered. “It’s just four stops, and then we’re home.”
The impulse to take over and use his prodigious resources to ease Samantha’s burdens nearly drove him to make matters worse. Then he had a light bulb moment.
“Does the program you use have fundraisers? I’m good for a dozen rolls of wrapping paper and as much candy as you have.”
“I know what that is,” Chelsea squawked. “A fundraiser. We’re having an art show. I wove mats from strips of fabric and painted a really cool picture. Mommy’s going to bid on the picture, aren’t you?”
She looked at her only parent, and the love shining in her eyes humbled something inside John.
“Whatever it takes.” Samantha chuckled. “I have a spot all picked out.”
The rhythm of kids meant a conversation happened one minute and turned on a dime when a seven-year-old announces she has to go potty. After Samantha and Chelsea left the table, Jen and Ryan started talking to him at the same time.
“Nice save, John,” Jen praised.
“Dude.” Ryan chuckled. “You’re fucking killing it, man!”
He smiled. “Jesus,” he muttered with a chuckle. “A forty-two-year-old man who needs a damn cheering section. I can’t thank you guys enough. It’s going good, don’t you think? It is, right? Please tell me it is.”
Something weird happened when he asked the question. Ryan laughed and leaned into Jen. He flat out invaded her body space, but she didn’t snap him in two for the breach of etiquette. It got even weirder when Ryan put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed.
“We make a great cheer team, and yes, John, it seems to be going well.”
Jen said nothing. She offered a weak smile but nothing else. Dammit. He sucked at reading these situations.
Ryan rambled on, but John tuned him out and focused on his assistant. She wasn’t acting strangely. Or was she? Her hands were on her lap, and a bloom of color highlighted her cheeks. Was she blushing?
Wow. Jen Carlton blushed.
“So how do you want to play things, bro? You’re going to take Samantha and Chelsea home, right?”
What? John looked away from Jen and frowned at his brother. “What are you saying? Is that what I should do? Jen?”
“Ryan is right,” she replied. “Letting them walk out of here and get on the subway is unacceptable. You’ll have the driver take them home. Oh, and you’ll get out of the car and walk them to their door, okay?”
“Where are you going to be?” he asked.
“Probably on my sofa. I live in the other direction, John. It’s fine. You can do this.”
Shit, what? Nervously, he glanced at his brother. “Ryan? What about you?”
“I guess Jen and I will share a cab. And she’s right. You’ll be fine. Relax. You’re not negotiating a merger. Today was fun, wasn’t it?”
When John shrugged and nodded, his brother smiled broadly.
“Now, see? Simple. Just have fun. Don’t overthink anything.”
He didn’t know how he would keep it together, but he knew he didn’t have any other choice. He’d be a gentleman and see the ladies safely home. Beneath the table, his fingers crossed, and he said a silent prayer that he wouldn’t screw up the opportunity to continue getting to know Samantha and her little girl.
They waved the limo off, and as it disappeared down a busy city street, Jen exhaled with a sigh. Her shoulders were tight, and a dull headache was gaining a foothold. She rubbed her temples and turned her face away when she found Ryan studying her.
“Are you okay,” he asked gently.
“Yes. Thank you,” she firmly replied.
He ignored her obvious deflection. She winced when the rascal played a heavy, controlling hand and took control. How the hell had she let that happen?
“I ordered a car. Five minutes. Do you want to sit down?”
He motioned to an empty bench along the Applebee’s walkway, but she shook her head and stayed put. It was more than a little disconcerting how easily the scruffy outdoorsman rattled her cage, so she had to avoid getting comfy with him—for any reason.
Her refusal didn’t dampen his concern or lessen the authoritative pulse in his voice. She’d never really thought about Ryan as an alpha dog and was beginning to realize what a mistake that was on her part. His laid-back attitude and appearance disguised a lot.
She did a double take when he snickered and sized her up from head to toe.
“If you go down, I’m not saying I’ll catch you, but I can definitely carry you even if you’re out cold and dead weight.”
“Okay, Mr. Macho. Stand down, okay? I’m not about to go slithering to the pavement. I have a headache. That’s all.”
She glanced at her feet, and an involuntary scowl showed on her face. She wouldn’t have a headache and her back wouldn’t be in agony if she hadn’t walked a 5K in her office heels.
A large sedan pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down, and a guy yelled, “Pickup for Lloyd?”
“That’s us,” Ryan answered and then swiftly got her situated in the back seat. He ran around to the driver’s window, gave some instructions, and then joined her in the back seat. She was relieved when he sat far away and stayed in the corner.
Her relief was short-lived, though, because once they began the drive across town, he shocked the crap out of her by pulling her feet onto his lap and sliding off her heels.
“What the hell are you doing?” she shrieked.
“Massaging your feet. Now shhh.”
Without missing a beat, he started rubbing one of her feet in a way that pulled an involuntarily moan from Jen.
Oh, good heavens, that felt so good. She shuddered head to toe and relaxed in the plush back seat.
He worked on each toe individually and pressed on a spot along the arch of her foot that emptied her brain. How the hell did he do that?
When the car turned onto her street, she sat up and drew her feet off his lap. Embarrassed but grateful, she made a wry face and thanked him.
With a half-smile playing on his handsome face, he shrugged. “Guys roll for comfort. What you women put your feet through is crazy.”
Even though she knew it was a mistake, she laughed in his face and said what she was thinking.
“Are you saying you don’t like my shoes?”
“Well, no.” He chuckled.
“Because I’m not stupid, Ryan. Or blind. And …”
He cut off the rest of her taunt, dammit!
“And what? You caught me checking out your ass?” He scoffed and gave her a cheeky smirk. “Isn’t that the whole point of the shoes in the first place? The way they make your ass swagger wiggle.”
“Swagger wiggle?” She smirked.
“Yep. Swagger wiggle. And you, Ms. Carlton, have a world-class swagger wiggle.”
The car drew up to the curb, and she looked out of the window.
“Home sweet home. Thanks for the ride. May I have my shoes, please?”
Keeping her shoes in his hand, he said, “Hang on,” and then shoved open his car door and came to hers.
Crouching on the sidewalk, he held up a shoe and asked for a foot.
She might have hesitated for a second, but in her mind, it felt like ten minutes. Her brows bumped together, and she stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
Swiveling on the back seat, she turned toward him and extended a foot. Ryan slid the shoe on, and it felt like she was watching Prince Charming at work. She didn’t expect to be so moved by his gentle caress of her ankle or the softness of his touch. Jen swallowed hard when a buzzing s
ound filled her ears.
Did the dashing prince also stroke his fingers up and down Cinderella’s calf, making her shiver with awareness?
And how come her dashing prince was wearing a shirt with brightly colored parrots and tropical palms? What was it with him and the loud prints? Didn’t he know he stood out without having to use his style choices to draw attention?
The second shoe slid onto her foot, and this time, he didn’t even try to hide that he was copping a feel. She stared, transfixed, and watched his big hands and nimble fingers map her leg from ankle to knee.
She started to breath heavily—a signal that shot a blast of cold air into the middle of her response. Better shut this down now before things got out of hand.
“Why are you playing me like this, Ryan? What’s in it for you?”
He didn’t stop caressing her leg. In fact, he’d moved from one leg to both—running his hands up and down in long, slow strokes. When his hands slid up to her knees, they disappeared under her skirt, and unless she was high, he gently separated her legs in the process.
It was unfortunate her imagination chose that moment to picture his face between her legs licking and teasing as she moaned her pleasure.
Fuck.
“You’re not being played.” His words were precise. Direct. Emphatic.
Oh, right. She’d said something snarky, thinking he’d take offense and back off.
He stood, took her hand, and hauled her from the car. On the sidewalk, they stood chest to chest and stared at each other in silence.
“I’m going to walk you to the building entrance, and you’re going to let me.”
Jen stiffened. “Say again?”
Ryan sniggered when she broke out the imperious tone she saved for especially awkward moments.
“Give it a rest, lady. We both know I’m not stepping over any lines. You want me to push your buttons, and I’m fine with that. For now.”
She had some sort of teenage brain fart and gruffly huffed to emphasize her indignation at his audacity. The only thing was, she was far more turned on than outraged, and her pouty retort proved it.
“You’re taking liberties with me, Mr. Lloyd.”
Oh. My. God! Did she always come off sounding like an uptight virgin? Taking liberties? Jesus. What century was she living in?
Ryan’s amused laughter did strange things to her composure.
“I’m going to do a lot more than take some liberties, Ms. Carlton.”
“Shut up,” she snapped.
“Oh, burn,” he teased. “Come on. Let’s get you to safety before your panties end up in my back pocket, and you’re forced to slap my face.”
She huffed, puffed, and stomped toward the security door to her building. How the hell had she lost control of the Ryan Lloyd situation? Did he have some kind of sexual mojo capable of cruising over, around, under, and past her defenses?
Well, shit. That wasn’t good.
When they reached the front door, Jen was still deciding which snotty brush-off to throw in his face. She turned to say something, and he caught her off guard, pushing her against the door with his body.
His voice held a slight growl, and she felt his breath on her face. “What do you say we save some time and forget about the pretense, hmm?”
“I have no idea what you mean.” Her words might have held more power if she hadn’t bit her lip at the end.
He leaned into her and got so close to her face that she froze.
“When you talk to my mother, tell her the Quinn plan is a day late and a dollar short. I’m engaged elsewhere.”
The lump in her throat was hard to swallow. “Um, you are?”
“Yes,” was all he said.
She thought he might try to kiss her, but to Jen’s dismay, he didn’t. He just covered her with his bigger body and stared into her eyes while their lips almost touched.
When panic made her reach blindly behind her for the door handle, he softly kissed her cheek and murmured, “John isn’t the only one discovering a treasure that was right in front of him the whole time.”
Ba-boom. That was what her heart did.
He stepped back and touched the side of her face. His smile was gentle and held a surprising warmth.
“It’s okay to run, Jen. You probably should. But be aware that I’m the long-distance sort. A fast sprint doesn’t interest me, so the more you run, the closer I’ll follow.”
“But I don’t like you,” she miserably whined.
He chuckled. “You keep telling yourself that, and we’ll see where we end up.”
She felt strangely satisfied about him standing there while she punched in her security code, entered the building, and closed the door between them. She liked that he waited to be sure she was safe. His concern had a very alpha feel to it that didn’t exactly turn her off.
8
Monday. Ugh.
Shuffling papers on her desk, Jen spared a baleful glare at the cloudy gray skies outside her window. The dismal weather matched her mood. Nothing like being agitated all weekend to make a new workweek start off with a fizzle.
At least, John was in a chipper mood. The second his feet hit the pavement this morning, he launched into an enthusiastic re-telling of how Friday had ended for him.
Apparently, things with Samantha went better than expected.
John dominated their conversation on this morning’s walk—not that she cared. Jen was more than okay with him doing all the talking. If she opened her mouth, there was a real possibility the subject would be Ryan, so her sense of self-preservation kept her silent.
“Good morning, John,” Samantha called out as they approached her reception desk.
Jen did a passably good job of curtailing her shocked reaction to hearing Samantha speak in familiar terms with their boss. John’s boyish grin told her of his delight.
The John-Samantha plan was moving right along.
“Samantha,” he replied in a voice Jen had never heard before. She did a quick double take and observed their curious exchange.
“Good morning. Did you have a nice ride in?”
The receptionist turned half a dozen shades of scarlet and shook her head at John as if he was a naughty boy.
“Yes. Thank you.”
They didn’t say more, and Jen churned over the missing details. Had John sent a car for Samantha?
Well, well, well. This was a surprising and very fast step forward.
Someone interrupted, momentarily drawing his attention elsewhere, so Jen studied Samantha. She was watching John with more than a passing interest. She also touched her hair a few times and smoothed the front of her blouse—sure signs that things were moving right along.
Jen leaned over the reception desk and caught her gaze. With a sly smile working her mouth, she winked at Samantha and said, “I like peanut brittle.”
Samantha blinked and asked, “What?”
“That thank-you gesture you’re pondering? It’s as simple as peanut brittle.” She reached out and patted Samantha’s arm. “I told you.”
The receptionist giggled. “He’s a mess, Jen. A serious, undignified mess. But he’s adorable about it. Know what I mean?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And Chelsea thinks he’s so cool. He sent her a science kit that arrived bright and early Saturday, so my weekend was all about John and how important science is for girls.”
Jen snickered. “He’s a feminist. Is that what you’re saying?”
Instead of answering her silliness, Samantha gave Jen a smirk and came straight at her. “And what about the other Mr. Lloyd? Is he also an adorable mess?”
Five unintelligible interjections burst from Jen’s mouth, much to Samantha’s apparent delight.
“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought. John also thinks his brother has the hots for you.”
As if she’d lined her up for a kill shot, Samantha’s unintentional zinger exploded center mass inside Jen and sent her spine rigid. Hearing Samantha’s take on the Ryan si
tuation reminded her that blending personal and professional was Jen’s no-go zone.
It didn’t matter that she’d fantasized all weekend about the wealthy yet raggedy-ass wanderer. Dirty snippets were one thing, but reality was another. She liked working in the heart of corporate America, and the fast-paced, high-anxiety environment didn’t suit everyone. In her case, she’d found the recipe that worked for her. A recipe that gave her the challenges and benefits of a career while preserving her privacy so she could live as she wanted. Without judgment or interference. It was already hard enough to be taken seriously as a woman.
Adopting a dismissive air, Jen shifted into her badass executive handler persona and simply said, “He’ll be gone when the next adventure beckons.”
She expected Samantha to be put off by her tone and words, but the other woman gave her a perplexed look and a frown.
“Don’t you know?”
“Know what?” Jen snapped.
“Ryan isn’t going anywhere. The brick and mortar project got the green light.”
Beyond shocked at this news, Jen’s head jerked back. “From who?” she demanded anxiously.
“Well, John, for one, I imagine. I mean, he certainly gave me the impression he was one hundred percent on board. Mrs. Lloyd had a say too, didn’t she?” Samantha gave a small shrug. “And since the original idea came from Mrs. Lloyd’s twin, Grace Brewster was also in Ryan’s corner.”
Anxiety ricocheted inside her. Connie and Grace were always up to something, so it didn’t surprise her that the two were still pushing for Lloyd Global to open a physical storefront targeting Ryan’s outdoor division. Strike while the iron was hot.
The Quinn Montgomery nonsense suddenly made sense. If Ryan was tethered to one place, what better time to pin him to the butterfly board with a convenient spouse?
Not sure what bothered her more—a big decision like this flying right past her or the dual issues of Ryan in residence and a bidding war for his mangy ass—she stiffened even more and pursed her lips.
“John! Come on,” she grumbled. “Gotta go.”
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