by Mary Calmes
He looked uncertain, almost floundering. “I dunno, what would be making you happy right now?”
There was no question that being around Ryan Dean probably made me glow.
His expression changed, grew thoughtful, like he was trying to figure me out.
“What?”
“You have no idea what you look like, do you?”
I knew exactly what I looked like, and me, any time, any day, would not have made any man stop and talk. I was the guy you got to know and then noticed. It never worked any other way. Men saw me after they knew me, not before.
“Hey.”
My eyes returned to his. As I had been lost in thought for a few moments, when my mind had drifted so had my focus. But Ryan wanted my attention and I would give it back to him.
“You’re not drinking.” He pointed at my glass. “I want you drinking.”
“Sorry,” I said, the response automatic, looking at his glass. “What is that?”
“Cranberry juice.”
“With what in it?” I asked, picking it up and tasting it.
“With nothing in it.”
And there wasn’t any alcohol at all. “Why?”
He just shrugged.
I took a sip of my scotch and water. “I shouldn’t drink anymore; I’m already not as clearheaded as I should be.”
“Drink up.”
I chuckled, and he waggled his eyebrows at me. He was very cute, and I was having trouble not just leaning forward and tasting him. The wicked look let me know he could read my mind. When some fans came over, claiming his attention, I was almost relieved.
A while later, as I was listening to the music, I realized suddenly how relaxed I was. That never happened when I was with somebody new. Usually, “anxious” was the word to describe me, because I was never really sure what to say or do. When I glanced at Ryan, I found him looking at me.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he sighed, “just content.”
Which was a scary word. There were a million casual words to use. “Content” was not one of them. “Content” was reserved for that peaceful feeling that comes with having everything you want. Maybe his definition was different from mine.
“Content?”
He leaned forward and patted my leg gently. “Yeah.” I got half a grin.
Nope. He and I had the same personal dictionary. He was happy right where he was, just like I was. It was scary as hell.
“You know, your eyes are amazing,” he said slowly. “I have never seen such dark blue eyes before.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
Most people assumed that my eyes were black. That Ryan Dean had looked long enough to tell that they were, in fact, blue was amazing. I had to tilt my head a certain way or the light had to catch them for anyone to see that they were midnight blue. He had to have really been studying me. The thought filled my stomach with butterflies.
“Julian?”
“Yours are too,” I said quickly, because the changing colors of brown, green, and gray were really something to see. The deep dark shade of clear olive they were at the moment was truly beautiful.
“They turn dark green when I’m happy.”
“Really,” I said, making sure I was breathing.
He nodded slowly.
I had to swallow down my heart.
“Julian,” he exhaled.
I got up so fast I almost spilled my drink. I had forgotten for a second that he was not an option for me. “I gotta go, I—”
“Wait,” he ordered, getting up.
I turned to leave, and his arm slid down over my right shoulder, his palm flat against my chest. He held me tight against him, keeping me there. I felt his nose rub over my shoulder. “Why do you wanna run away from me?”
“C’mon, Ry, I—”
“Ry is good,” he said, his lips brushing across the back of my neck before he inhaled deeply, breathing me in.
Without even thinking, I’d shortened his name, like we were friends. What was with me?
His hand slid up my chest so his arm was around my neck, his breath warm on my ear. “Come home with me so I can talk to you.”
But how smart was that? If I was alone with Ryan Dean, could I trust myself?
“You need to let yourself go, Julian. You worry too much about what could happen instead of just living in the moment. Sometimes it’s all you have.”
“Like you know me at all,” I mumbled, because I liked having him wrapped around me. I would like it even better if he took off all his clothes. I leaned back a little, relaxing, and when he felt my weight shift, heard my slow exhale of breath, his left arm went around my waist, his mouth against my ear.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited.”
I smiled because the familiar heat was sliding up my legs to my groin. No doubt about it, I was warming to the idea of doing all kinds of carnal things to him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He held me tighter, his voice gravelly and deep, his lips brushing the side of my neck before he bit down gently, tenderly, just a nibble, just enough to taste my skin. “So please just stay here with me.” He squeezed hard for emphasis. “Please.”
I let out a breath and closed my eyes. He was solid against me, stronger than I would have guessed, and he was clutching me close.
“Why do you wanna leave me?”
I just concentrated on breathing because it was getting harder to do.
“I feel good, right?” His lips were featherlight behind my ear.
He did. Why lie? “Yeah.”
His hand slid up under my T-shirt, flat on my stomach. “I asked around about you, but no one I know has ever been in bed with you. Word is you just hook up for the night.”
“Oh yeah? Is that what everyone says?”
“Yep. My friend Marcus says that you turned him down at a party even though you were drunk and he was naked.”
I chuckled. “Marcus Grant is a whore.”
“People say the same about me.”
“Yeah, but maybe they just don’t know you. Maybe you sleep around ’cause you’re looking for the right guy, not because you’re a cock whore.”
“Spoken like a true romantic.”
“Is that bad?”
“No,” he breathed. “I’ve just never met one before. Now let’s go already.”
I tried to turn my head so I could see him. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough,” he murmured, and I felt it more than I heard it. The sound slithered right through me. “And I want to know way more, which is new for me. I mean I don’t like anybody. Nobody makes me curious, but you… you, I have never been able to get out of my head. I think there’s a reason for that, one that I almost missed.”
His confession made my knees weak. Ryan Dean had been thinking about me. How amazing was that?
“I always enjoyed working with you on all my projects. You’re great with people, cool under pressure, and watching you walk around in your jeans is a religious experience.” He sighed, pressing a kiss into the crook of my neck. “How do you not get that you’re gorgeous?”
But I wasn’t; he was. I knew exactly what I looked like, but if he thought I was beautiful, why would I correct him?
“You know you wanna sleep with me. Everybody wants to sleep with me,” he said as he kissed my jaw, then my ear.
I put a hand on the arm that he had around my neck. “Oh yeah?” I teased. “Everybody?”
The impatient half growl made me grunt before he pushed me forward so I was out of his arms. I turned around to face him and saw the look of naked need on his face.
“We can do whatever you want, Jules; I just want the chance to spend some time with you.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I do,” he said flatly.
I looked at him, and his smile shifted, became more intimate, his gaze hot, definitely carnal.
“Now what?” I asked him.
“Oh, you’re asking now
?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, now you come with me,” he said, moving forward, throwing an arm around my neck and leading me toward the door.
There were more people in the club the later it got on a Friday night. As we threaded our way through the thickened crowd, I realized I didn’t want to get separated even for a second. As we were bumped and pushed from every side, I reached back for his hand and felt him grab it tightly. Somehow, I ended up having to yank him out of the bodies crushed together at the edge of the dance floor. He banged into me, but instead of letting go after he steadied himself, he wrapped both arms around me.
“Julian,” he said as he kissed the side of my neck, his breath hot and wet in my ear, “come home with me, all right?”
I didn’t answer as he pushed me out of the club ahead of him. When we were outside, I turned to look at him.
“What?” He laughed softly, finishing with a sigh.
I gave him a look.
“C’mon,” he pressed me. “You know you’re coming home with me. Why are you even pretending to think about it?”
“I had a really good time with you tonight,” I said, letting out a breath, knowing full well the teasing was over. I was much too serious for casual sex. Even as attracted as I was to the man, how aroused I got just looking at him, and how much I wanted to do bad things to him, I couldn’t change the fact that I was hard-wired for long-term, promised monogamy. “You should go back in and pick somebody up.”
His smile was slow and lit his eyes. “I appreciate the offer, but no.”
I stared at him, and he looked right back. “You’re different from how I thought you were,” I said.
“And you’re exactly like I knew you were.”
“That so can’t be good.” I was sarcastic because I was at a loss.
“Oh yeah, it can,” he said, and his voice was soft. I looked away because all his attention was a little overwhelming. “Come on,” he said, taking hold of my hand, tugging me after him.
The direction we were walking was strange because there was nothing there but a Jeep.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Are we riding in that?” I pointed.
“Yeah,” he said, looking closely at me. “Why? You too good to ride in my baby?”
“Seriously? This is your Jeep?” I asked as we walked up to it.
“Yeah, why?” He was scowling now.
“Nothing.” I was pleased with his ride, actually, because it was so real. Nothing pretentious about a ten-year-old Jeep covered in primer. “What’s with the Bondomobile?”
He looked uncomfortable suddenly, squirmy. “It gets banged up a lot, and I was painting it all the time, so I stopped.”
“Why? Are you a shitty driver?” I baited him. “Should I ride with you?”
“I’m a great driver,” he said quickly, “and you should definitely ride with me.”
“Then what’s with the story on the Jeep?”
“It gets beat up when I’m working.”
Vague answer from a man usually so forthcoming, but it was his car. How much did I really care? “I think cherry red would be hot.”
“I’ll consider it,” he said slowly, giving me a wicked grin and a quick wink. I smiled back. He was irresistible. So easygoing, so aware of how sexy he was with his dazzling smile, gorgeous body, and clear, shining eyes. Used to getting whatever he wanted because he could.
I nodded, trying to keep myself breathing. “So,” I said, standing there, looking down at the floorboard of the Jeep. I wasn’t sure if getting in was the best course of action; it seemed like the frying pan into the fire.
“Are you gonna get in?”
I looked up at him. “I’m thinking.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I want to.”
“That makes no sense.”
“If you knew me better, it would.”
He nodded. “You think too much. Get in.”
“You know I—”
“I’m just gonna feed ya,” he told me. “Swear.”
I got in.
II
RYAN’S APARTMENT was close to the Marina District, in a security building with a doorman. He greeted the man by name, and they exchanged some small talk.
“What?” he asked me when he caught me smiling.
“Nothin’, Mr. Dean.”
He clipped me with his elbow. “Shut up.”
I followed him down the hall to the end unit, and he held open the door for me. He brushed by me to flip on the lights.
I glanced around quickly as I followed after him. “Oh, it’s nice in here.”
He looked at me funny. “You thought… what? That I lived in some studio apartment all grunged out? You figure that the life of an ex-model is what, glamorous on the outside but like a ghetto inside?”
“Well, yeah,” I assured him. “It’s how the rest of us deal with all you beautiful people. We tell ourselves that you must have empty, wasted hulls of lives.”
He rolled his eyes like I was stupid before he walked out of the room.
I looked around, checking the titles of his books, his DVD collection. The patio door was open and a light was on, so I wandered outside. I was surprised to find a large, thriving herb garden. I would have never guessed he had one.
“There’s an awful lot of plants out here on your lanai, Mr. Dean,” I called out to him.
“I mix stuff.” His voice reached me from the depths of the apartment.
“Medicinally?” I raised my voice so it would bounce back.
“Sort of,” he answered, walking back into the living room at the same time I did.
I studied him. “What are you? A witch, a warlock, whatever? You make potions?”
“No.” He made a face. “I’m not a witch.”
“You sure?” I taunted, because he actually seemed annoyed that I was accusing him of some nefarious plot with eye of newt.
“I’m not a witch.” He was emphatic.
“But you do make potions?” I asked to make sure he knew I was listening.
“You know, for someone who drank quite a bit tonight, you’re awfully clearheaded and inquisitive.”
“That was hours ago, and that drink at the club was more water than anything else.”
He grunted.
“Are the plants poisonous? Are you brewing up poison on your stove?”
He muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Something about guys you just fuck?” I chuckled.
He growled at me. “I said that guys I bring home just to fuck never take the tour and ask questions.”
I laughed at how disgruntled he looked.
“Shit.”
“I can go,” I offered lightly.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, shoving me back toward the large bay window. “Go check out my view of the city—it’s nice.”
I had no interest in the view. Him being evasive about the plants growing in his herb garden was infinitely more interesting. What proved an even greater discovery was that there was not one framed picture of anyone anywhere in his apartment.
“Look at all the shiny lights,” he said playfully before leaving the room again.
“What’s growing in the herb garden, Dean?” I called after him.
“Give it a rest already!”
I could see being evasive about something illegal, but I knew what I was looking for, and there was nothing a member of law enforcement would have a problem with growing in his house. It was funny that he was so prickly about it. Also funny was the lack of photographic evidence of family or friends. I found that really odd.
“What?” he asked as he walked back in, having shed his leather jacket.
“No pictures?”
He gave me a weird look. “No.”
I nodded and walked over to the walls, looked at his artwork. “These are nice.”
“Yeah… yeah, the
y’re great,” he said absently, grabbing my arm and pulling me over to the barstool. I sat down at his kitchen counter while he walked around to the fridge.
“So what kind of dessert do ya want?”
My elbow went down on his counter, then my head on my hand. “I dunno, whatever, as long as you don’t sprinkle something from the herb garden over it.”
“You’re funny.”
I smiled at the dripping sarcasm.
He made brownies from scratch. Who did that? He talked to me as he worked, smiling, telling me stories that were by turns funny and gross and eye-opening. The day-to-day life of a model was fascinating.
“You should write a book.”
He grunted as he prepared the plate he was going to put the brownies on. I had no idea that anywhere but at a restaurant did people concern themselves with presentation. And he used raspberry glaze. How did he just have that in his kitchen cupboard?
“What? It’s a raspberry and cream cheese swirl brownie. You have to have the glaze on the plate. It all goes together.”
“Uh-huh,” I agreed. “Pass it over here. I just wanna eat it.”
His face scrunched up like I was a heathen as I gestured for him to hurry up and give me my dessert. “Try and savor the flavor of the… uh….” He ended with a groan.
“What?” I asked around the brownie in my mouth.
His grin came fast as he wiped my face. “You want some milk?”
I nodded because I was chewing.
When I finished with the second one, I told him I was in love.
“Don’t tease,” he said, his eyes flicking to mine, liquid with heat.
I would have licked my plate clean, but he made a face at that suggestion, so I washed it because I wasn’t raised in a barn. He had done all the other dishes while the brownies baked, talking to me the whole time, so the last of the cleanup was minimal. As I stood at his sink, he came up behind me and pressed a kiss to the side of my neck. Something about the constant physical contact was almost as intimate as the kiss we shared earlier. It was like he had to touch me, and I liked it a lot.
We talked for a long time more in the kitchen, about so many different things, finally ending with how well his show was going and my promotion. Afterward, as he looked through his DVD collection for a movie, I noticed a cabinet that I had missed on my first walk-through. It was big, but dark wood and metal, so if you weren’t looking, it blended in with the wall, tucked into a corner. I reached for the handle to open it.