AMAZING HEART (Broken Bottles Series Book 4)

by Pamela Taeuffer

  "My manly chair?" he laughed.

  "It's huge! Big rollers, heavy wood, thick leather . . . so yeah, big time manly. Anyway, I'm writing about all the nice things you've done for me."

  "Oh, Nicky. How sweet you are, baby. Did you put on any underwear?"

  "Wow! That's a quick change of topic. Of course I put on underwear, why wouldn't I?"

  What a nasty boy you are, Mr. Tilton.

  "Did you sit on my big man chair and fill it with your big, bare, womanly butt?"

  "You just can't help it, can you?" I doodled on the writing tablet, RT + NY = LOVE. "Just tell me, as your girlfriend, will I always have to be ready for your sly comments?"

  "I'll never stop with you," he threatened, a delicious warning in his voice. "You never told me you like to write so much."

  "Yes I did. I told you when I was at the Cliff House, remember?"

  "Yeah, but that was the day you explored my contacts. I would expect you to write your notes about that day."

  "Oh, I journal and write poetry all the time," I shared. "I can't go one day without writing. I love it. But I admit I wrote more than usual the day I met Walter Dixon."

  "Will you ever let me read some of your journal? Particularly the parts about me?" A wicked laugh practically leapt through the phone and tickled my belly.

  "No, Mr. Tilton, a journal is private. You know that. And what makes you think there's anything in there about you other than facts?"

  "Okay, have it your way. It'll be fun getting you to surrender and read some to me. Baby, I wasn't thinking earlier. Our game ends late and you're still recovering from your fall . . . my head is all muddy."

  "Muddy?" I repeated.

  "My head is all foggy. Don't wait up for me. It's important you get your rest. Just relax and get some rest."

  "Relax?" I teased. "Here with you? There's way too much danger here to relax when you're here."

  "You've relaxed plenty." The sex laugh seemed to come right through the phone and squeezed my belly.

  "Come home as quickly as possible and you'll see what I have planned," I dangled a carrot for him. "Make sure you don't eat."

  Silence.

  "Ryan?"

  "I'm here, Sweetheart. I'll see you tonight."

  "Oh! Wait! Ryan! Your mom called! She needs to tell you that her flight has been changed and she's leaving tomorrow to stay at a friend's house for a few days. There's no cell reception there. I have the message taped to the outside of your front door. Turn on your cell phone so she doesn't call me anymore! Do you have her number?"

  "You taped Mom's message on the front door? She intimidated you?"

  "Hell, yeah she did," I shot back. "She wasn't out of line, though." Well, yes, I think she was, but maybe that's typical of how the mother of the boyfriend talks? Man, I wouldn't want to cross your mama."

  "Thanks for telling me. I'll call her now. See you tonight and I'll um . . . definitely save my appetite. Can't wait."

  "Me, too." From the tone of my voice it wasn't hard to tell I was anxious to see him again.

  Initially I'd planned to sit on the beach with Ryan. The phone call from his mother changed my mind. I wanted to talk within the warmth and comfort of his home, familiarity surrounding him, exploring as much of his past as he'd dare to open to me. And there was the issue of his father's journal we needed to discuss. I didn't want to keep it a secret that I'd read it.

  When I finished mapping out my plan, I decided to use Ryan's concierge service to order the things I needed for our "Picnic on Tilton Beach."

  Chapter 37

  Tilton Beach

  "Ross, this is Nicky Young in Ryan Tilton's apartment. Do you remember me?"

  "Of course I do, Ms. Young. We met the day you came to pick up the jerseys Mr. Tilton left to take to Yountville. You're feeling better?"

  "Much. Thanks."

  "I'm relieved to hear that." He kept it professional. "The doorman on duty last night said you didn't look too good."

  "I fell while I was cheering at the ballpark."

  "Sorry to hear that. Better now that you've relaxed at Mr. Tilton's?"

  "Oh, yes! Much better, thanks. I saw a doctor last night. Well, Ryan brought one of the team doctors here to see me. His name is Dr. Welluck. I couldn't believe he did that. Isn't it incredible? Ryan is so thoughtful. He must be the ideal resident, right? Have you met the doctor before? He was so soothing. I could've listened to Dr. Welluck for hours. He has one of those voices that give you the chills. Know what I mean?"

  "I do," he chuckled. "And no, I haven't met the good doctor."

  "I hope you get to one day. I recommend him. He was really . . . Ryan . . . anyway . . ."

  "What can I do for you, Ms. Young?"

  "Sorry, I know you're busy. I actually called for a reason, not just to talk with you," I was giddy. "I'd like to order some food. Not a lot. Plus, I want it to be a surprise. Could I use the concierge service and have it delivered without telling Ryan?"

  "Sure, what do you need, Ms. Young?"

  "I'm kind of embarrassed to admit this, but I only have enough for the order and hardly any money for a tip. I think the total will be around twenty-five dollars. I have thirty."

  "That's plenty," Ross comforted. "What can we get for you?"

  "I'd like some chicken salad, French bread, gourmet olives, fresh fruit salad, S'mores, and pear sparkler, enough for two, please. Ryan raves about some deli around the corner? Maybe you could get it there?”

  "I'll place the order with his concierge immediately. Her name is Ms. Drivesdale. Let's see, I'm looking at her schedule . . ." sounds of Ross typing on a computer keyboard echoed in the background. "If she's delivers your order between eight and nine, will that work for you?"

  "Yes, that's perfect. Thanks, Ross."

  "Ms. Young, before Mr. Tilton left today he authorized you to charge on his account. He didn't tell you?"

  "No." What?

  "Perhaps he wanted to surprise you."

  "Until I get the chance to talk with him, I'll pay for my order. If the cost is more than I have, I'll take the credit, all right?"

  Ross was fine with my proposal. As soon as I hung up the phone I visited Ryan's closet once again. I needed panties and didn't have any, so I grabbed a pair of his briefs, a pair of his drawstring shorts, and one of Ryan's T-shirts.

  I love wearing his clothes. He has so many . . . maybe I'll keep two of his T-shirts!

  For my sweetheart, I put out some navy blue sweat pants and a T-shirt that read, Hugs=Happiness. The last item of clothing I selected for him were a pair of thick wool socks to keep his feet warm. I placed all the clothes on his bed. He'd see them as soon as he walked into the room.

  Then, pausing one last time to study what I had laid out, I exchanged my initial idea for pieces that would take more than a few minutes to take off should we go anywhere near "that" place. He looked sexy in his brown flannel shirt that morning, so I chose one in another color. This time it was dark blue, paired with black jeans. I put the other clothes back in his closet.

  Relaxed was how I wanted Ryan to feel when he came home. I played with the dimmer switches, trying to find the right combination of lighting. While searching his pantry for dishes, I found a few candles and put them on the mantle and coffee table. Just as I set out the last candle, the doorbell rang. It was a little after nine.

  When I opened the door, I found a woman with blond hair tucked into a tight bun, somewhere in her early thirties and a bag of groceries in her arms. Her pink lipstick was freshly applied. She was dressed in a feminine-looking white business suit, the skirt a few inches above her knees, matched with a pink V-neck blouse, a strand of pearls, and a waist-length white jacket.

  "Good evening, I'm Ms. Drivesdale," she announced boldly. "May I come in?"

  "Hello," I stepped aside and gestured to the kitchen counter. Oh damn, another tall, gorgeous woman. The parade never ends. I wonder if he handpicked her from several available choices. Maybe they've slept together.<
br />
  "Would you like me to review the items we purchased for you?" she took each one out and set it on the island.

  "I can see you have everything," I confirmed.

  "For legal reasons, may I ask your name?" She carried the slightest hint of a southern accent in her voice.

  "Nicky Young. And yours is?"

  "Ms.—"

  "I'm sorry, yes, you already told me, Ms. Drivesdale. I'm nervous. Sorry."

  "No need to be nervous. Thank you for identifying yourself, Ms. Young. These keys are for you and the attached code in the acrylic holder is Mr. Tilton's key code to his apartment. Please sign here."

  "What do the keys go to?" I signed the paper.

  "Mr. Tilton's Mustang. May I suggest you take off the key code and put it somewhere safe? It's only my suggestion."

  "I will," I assured her.

  "If you want to take his car, just call down to the desk. They'll have it brought around within fifteen minutes. I apologize that I'm late with your order," she continued. "The weekends are always busy and to top it off, I had an emergency. I hope you weren't inconvenienced."

  "Not at all. What uh, what time did Ryan call you and ask that his keys be delivered to me?"

  "Let's see." She looked at her watch. "Sometime around six, I think. He thought you might need transportation. I hope not getting them to you until now didn't cause a problem."

  "No, it didn't." Ross, did you phone him when I placed the order with you?

  "Mr. Tilton said he didn't want you riding on the bus when you weren't feeling well. It was one of the dearest things. Actually, if I remember rightly, he said my Nicky."

  "How much for the food items?" I tried not to get emotional.

  "It's on Mr. Tilton's account."

  "No, I told Ross if I have enough money I'll pay for them," I insisted. "I need to talk with Ryan before I charge to his account."

  "The total is twenty-seven dollars. Please don't worry about it." She put her hand on mine. "I've been an employee at Bayside Residences before Mr. Tilton moved in. I understand the different personalities in this building. May I speak frankly?"

  She had an affair with him. I knew it.

  I nodded.

  "I've been his concierge for two years. In my opinion, for someone in his position to show this kind of trust, adding you to his account and giving you his keys, he trusts you and expects you to use them. It would almost be an insult if you didn't."

  "Thank you." I gave in and signed the receipt. "For the food, too." I handed her a ten-dollar bill for her tip. "I'm sorry; I don't know what's correct. Is this appropriate?"

  "It's taken care of." She handed the money back to me. "Ms. Young, I think you have much more than you know." She winked and let herself out.

  Well that was interesting. Now I have a key to his car and access to his apartment even when he's on the road?

  I put his keys on my ring and tucked the tag with the apartment code in a pocket of my backpack. As I did, it occurred to me Ryan was showing me another way of how loving each other could be, helping me to trust him more—so much so that I could pop over at any time and let myself in. A door had opened wider and offered me a glimpse of our possibilities.

  Could I have more than I ever dared hope for?

  I plated the chicken salad, circled it with the baguette slices and olives, and chilled two glasses and bowls for the pear sparkler and fruit salad. For dessert, I assembled the S'mores ingredients on a separate plate. There were several comforters and extra pillows in the guest bedroom. I spread them in front of the gas fireplace and turned it on.

  My final items to complete before I waited for Ryan: I taped the message from his mother to the front door, along with my invitation, which read:

  Ms. Nicky Young enthusiastically invites Mr. Ryan Tilton to a picnic on Tilton Beach:

  If you need to shower, please do so now.

  Please dress in the clothes that have been carefully selected and are on your bed.

  Come to the fireplace and sit on the blanket where our picnic awaits.

  Please share the evening with me. I've missed my love.

  When I dimmed the lights, shadows threw themselves on his walls and ceilings. Satisfied with the ambience, I opened the sliding doors to the balcony. After I lit the last candle, I chose a CD of ocean sounds from his selection. I set it on replay and turned the volume to low. I brought the flatware and paper towels to the blanket, and tossed pillows randomly around the fireplace to watch our "campfire" burn.

  Ryan would walk into a sensual sanctuary: a glowing fire, low lighting, and relaxing music. I hoped he might immediately wind down to my unique welcome home. As I surveyed my picnic site, I realized everything I planned could explode into desire. Romantic scenes of our bodies coming together begged to come to life. Although I wanted that, I was sure that tonight, he'd only talk. After all, it was just one evening after my fall. Any physical excitement might be too much for my blood pressure and we were aware of the risk.

  While I waited in the library for his arrival, I decided to continue writing. As usual, I lost track of time. It was just after eleven when I heard the front door unlock and open. Papers crunched in his hand. He stopped just as he passed his office/library where I hid inside. I heard him give an appreciative and flirtatious laugh.

  "Oh, Nicky," he sighed and walked toward his bedroom and closed the door.

  Chapter 38

  A Boy of Fourteen

  I peeked out of Ryan's office/library. When I was sure he was still in the bedroom, I crept into the kitchen to get the pear sparkler, fruit, and chilled glasses.

  Everything was in place.

  I sat down and nervously waited for Ryan to join me.

  He opened his bedroom door and with long, deliberate strides, made a path straight for me. Like a towering bear, his big paws ready to take me into his wild nature, he knelt beside me, wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt instead of the clothes I'd laid out for him. It stretched tight over his chest. I could see the outline of everything I loved.

  "Wow, Ryan." My eyes were wide and filled with his body. I handed him a glass of cider trying to stop the force coming at me.

  Look at that! He's already filled up the room with his masculine essence. He's going to swallow me in one gulp.

  "Lift up, sweetheart." He set both of our glasses down, placing the pillows a few feet away from us near the edge of the blankets.

  I knew what that meant—he wanted us to lie down together. Was my heart trying to escape from my chest to reach his? It was pounding so hard it felt that way.

  "I'm ready to be with my woman." I was held securely in his arms as he lowered us to the pillows. He kissed the pulsing hollow at the base of my throat. Feeling the perfection of his body on mine . . . was this the same sensation a musician had when writing the final note of a magnificent song, or the emotion of an artist signing their name to their perfect painting?

  Taking each of my legs in his hands, he held them against his hips.

  Soft lips adored me.

  His warm tongue tasted me.

  The roughness of his stubbly cheeks caressed me.

  His body revved.

  My body revved.

  His moans became louder and more dramatic with each movement and kiss. Each tingle let me know—my woman's body was definitely alive. Chills flowed in waves over my neck and shoulders when his tongue lingered in sensitive places. His passion swirled through me like a tornado. The more his belly pushed out to mine the more intense the funnel moved and circled inside me. Desire stormed through me. I wanted to be swept up in his touch, no matter the debris we might leave once our longing subsided.

  "I'm hungry." He lifted his head. "So hungry and I want . . ." The weight of him pressed down on me. His mouth touched my lips as if it was the lightest of feathers. "I'm aching for you. The flood in my mind and body . . . I want . . . I need to be with you in so many ways."

  "Ryan." My voice was breathy. The heat blushed up and down my body. Heav
y with Ryan's desire, I felt as if hundreds of golden arrows softly teased my warm, moist places. As long as I was in his arms, I knew my logical mind would give way to the craving in my core. "I want to have a romantic evening, too. Can we just talk for a little while? I made this picnic for us."

  When he sat up, he lifted my body with his.

  "I'm sorry. I just thought—you know, the lighting and uh . . . God, I keep misinterpreting, I wasn't—"

  "No, don't." I put my finger on his lips. "Please don't worry or apologize. You didn't misinterpret anything. I just want to talk with you a while, that's all. Once we start kissing . . ."

  "All discussions will be over?" Pretending to be bashful, he looked up at me with his eyes hidden beneath his eyelashes.

  "Is that okay?” I put my hand on his cheek and turned his head to make him look in my eyes.

  "We're here together." He kissed my hand. "This is what I need. Thanks for this."

  “Can I ask about your mom?" I breathed deeply, trying to relieve the passion still spinning inside of me. "Are you comfortable talking about her?"

  "Not much to say." The way his face knotted, I knew there was plenty to say and more than we'd have time for in only one evening. "We have a strained relationship."

  "How so?"

  "Ever since my father died, our connection . . . it's awkward. The best way I can explain it to you? She failed me." He shook his head. "I suppose I failed her, too."

  "I don't understand." You're blaming yourself for events and reactions that weren't your fault. "How could you fail her when you were only fourteen?"

  "I couldn't give her what she needed." He turned away and looked at the fire.

  "What were you supposed to give her?" I pushed for an answer, hoping he'd continue.

  The same things you put upon myself, Nicky. You made sure to be dependable, took on the weight of your family's problems, and provided the stability they needed even though no one understood you did. You and Ryan were the fulcrums of your family.