by Diana Palmer
She didn't look up. She'd thought of that, too—that if he'd never kissed her, she might have responded to Ben. Ben might still be alive, because she wouldn't have had anyone to compare him with. But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't so. She'd been head over heels in love with Ryder long before Ben came into her life as a prospective husband. Ryder had been her life. He still was.
Ryder glanced at her brooding face for a long moment before he turned his attention back to the sea. He threw the shell as hard as he could into the ocean, walking absently down the beach with one lean hand shoved deep into his pocket. The wind lifted his hair, tousling it.
Ivy's eyes were drawn to him, and they lingered on his long, powerful body as he stood staring out to sea. He was a handsome man, and he had a physical presence that worked magic on women. But it was more than that. He had a kind, generous spirit that compensated for his quick temper and occasional melancholy. He was everything a man should be, and she wanted him so, in every way there was. She wondered what he might say if she told him that.
She got to her own feet, following along behind him. It was warm on the beach, but inside she was chilled to the bone.
"You always go away," she said sadly, joining him where the waves dampened the sand. "You do it without even moving."
He didn't look at her. He shoved both hands deep into his pockets and watched the water swirl in over the beach. "Do you know how much of my life I've spent alone?" he asked.
No, she didn't. She knew that he'd been alone since Eve married and his father moved to New York, but his early life was pretty much a blank for her. Eve, while fond of her brother, had never been really close to him because there was such a difference in their ages. Eve had never talked about Ryder's early life, and he himself was very reticent on the subject.
"I assumed you had the usual home life," she began.
"I grew up in an exclusive boarding school," he said. "When I was at home, my father tolerated me and not much more."
"Your mother loved you," she said.
"Yes, she did," he agreed absently. "But I needed my father, and he never gave a damn about me. I don't think he really wanted children at all. God knows, he never acted as if he did. Eventually, he made it all but impossible for me to spend any time with my mother. I wasn't allowed to come home for holidays after I was twelve. I was sent to military school in the eighth grade, and from there I went to college—ROTC— and into the Army. By then, Eve had come along and my mother adored her. Oddly enough, my father didn't seem to mind her affection for their daughter."
He sounded bitter, and probably he was, she thought, watching him. "Maybe he didn't think a daughter was the same kind of competition."
"Yes, I finally figured that out for myself. I grew up to be an overachiever, and probably I owe my father for it. But there were times when I'd gladly have traded it all for somebody to take me to ball games and play catch with me out in the backyard."
"At least you had a father, of sorts," she said with a smile. "I never knew mine. Mama said he was very special."
"Your mother is very special, too." He turned toward her, his pale eyes sliding warmly over her face in the sunlight. "Bright as a new penny," he murmured, watching her. "God, you're beautiful."
"Oh, no," she argued softly. "Not me."
"You. And not just the outward trappings." His lean hand touched her cheek, lightly caressing. "You're a little Dresden china doll with a heart like a marshmallow. I'd give you anything."
Her heart raced. He looked sad and sensual, a dangerous combination. He made her feel reckless.
"Anything?" she asked. She moved closer deliberately, her body singing with needs it was only just discovering. She wanted to kiss him, and it showed in her eyes, in her face.
"Yes," he said huskily. His breathing quickened. "What do you want?"
She lifted her face. "Your mouth," she whispered, her voice barely discernible above the waves.
His eyes flashed. "Are you sure?" he replied quietly. "At my age, kissing is serious business."
She touched his chest, liking the feel of the soft fabric over the warm, hard muscle. "I'm sure," she told him, her eyes as gentle as his were threatening.
"Then come here," he said softly, opening his arms.
She pressed against him, withholding nothing, making not even a pretence at modesty as she settled her body completely against his and raised her mouth.
He almost shivered with reaction at her unexpected compliance. He framed her face in his hands and searched her eyes for one long moment before he bent and began to bite tenderly at her mouth.
The whispery little kisses aroused, but didn't satisfy, which was apparently his intention all along. She began to feel a surge of heat that ran from her stomach down into her legs, making them trembly. She clung to his hard-muscled arms, her pose consciously inviting, her eyes slightly open, misty with longing and shocked delight.
Ryder was enjoying it every bit as much as she. He smiled lazily as he savored her soft lips, teasing them into parting. But he drew back when she lifted toward him, keeping her carefully at a distance while he skillfully built the tension between them to flashpoint.
Her teeth caught his lower lip and then his upper one as the pleasure grew. Her soft body pressed coaxingly against his, savoring the powerful muscularity of him until she felt the slow, fierce reaction of her provocation. And even then she didn't draw away. Her breath caught gently, because this was becoming familiar to her, this rigid set of his body. Familiar. Even welcome.
He felt her yielding and barely kept himself in check. Slowly, he thought. Slowly, so that I don't frighten her.
His lean hands began to slide down her back while his lips toyed with her. They moved to the very base of her spine and pressed tenderly. He felt her breath expel in a soft rush against his mouth and his heart skipped.
"Your legs…are trembling," she said against his mouth, her nails biting into his arms.
"Yes." His head tilted to give him better access to her lips. "I'm going to make yours tremble even more," he whispered. His hands contracted and began to move her lazily from side to side, so that her belly brushed the evidence of his fierce arousal. She felt her body contract with anguished pleasure, even as she stiffened and lifted to him.
"On a…public beach," she began in a wobbly voice.
"A deserted public beach," he whispered. "And we're only kissing."
"No," she said, shivering. "Oh, no, it's not…only kissing!"
"It isn't enough, either," he bit off against her mouth. "Hold on tight, little one. I have to have something more…"
Even as the last word was drowned out by the roar of the surf, she felt his mouth suddenly pushing her lips apart just before his tongue thrust insistently inside them.
The sensation was one she'd never felt with anyone except Ryder, and it was almost unbearably sweet. Fierce heat clenched in her belly and made her shudder rhythmically against his taut thighs. He gathered her up tight in his arms and his mouth became urgent. She felt her own heart beating and at that moment she'd have given herself to him in the sand without a thought of shame.
He knew it. Her reaction was impossible to miss. It gave him a sense of aching elation, increasing his ardor.
"I can't stand up much longer," she managed when his mouth released her swollen lips just briefly.
"If we lie down, there's going to be a whole new definition of the statement that we know each other," he said unsteadily.
"But we couldn't…here," she protested weakly.
"That's what you think," he said with rueful humor, pressing her hips against his to prove to her that they could, here.
"I mean, people," she faltered. Her eyes met his. "Someone might come down here."
"I know." His mouth touched her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, her chin. "Letting you go is going to rank along with scaling Everest on ice skates."
"I'm sorry." She opened her eyes and looked up at him, with her arms still linked around
his neck. "I wasn't teasing. If you need me that badly, I won't even try to stop you," she whispered shyly.
His jaw tautened. "I think I knew that. But I won't ask the supreme sacrifice. Not now." He began to let go of her, very slowly. His arms still had a faint tremor, and his body was painful.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" she asked gently, searching his darkening eyes.
"Yes." He put her away from him and took a deep breath, trying to get past the knifelike pain in his gut.
"I suppose I shouldn't have done what I did," she said hesitantly, watching him straighten his clothes with shaking hands.
He looked up, his fingers still on the buttons of his shirt. "Shouldn't you?" he asked and began to smile. The pain was easing, and now he could hardly believe that Ivy had actually come on to him. But unless he'd lost his mind, that was exactly what had just happened. "Why not?"
"It was, well, brazen," she said slowly.
He chuckled, but it wasn't a mocking kind of laugh. It was deep and pleasant and his eyes mirrored it. "As long as you confine your outbursts to me, we'll manage," he told her. He leaned toward her. "I enjoyed it," he whispered.
She blushed. "So did I."
His eyes twinkled. "In which case, you have my permission to do it again, whenever you like."
"Really?" she stammered.
His eyes were kind. Ben had hammered the impulsiveness out of her, the natural affection. But he was slowly bringing it back. He only hoped he was going to survive it. For the past few years, he'd been mourning Ivy, so there hadn't been a woman. Before that, he hadn't been accustomed to stifling his passions. Only now was he beginning to realize what an uphill battle it was going to be not to rush Ivy into a relationship she wasn't ready for.
"We'd better get on the road," he said after a minute. "We don't want Jean to worry."
"No, of course not."
He slid a protective arm around her shoulders. "You can show her your bear. Have you thought of a name for him?"
She smiled. "Bartholomew."
"What?"
"Well, he's a very uptown sort of bear," she said seriously. "You can't really expect me to give him a common name."
He shook his head, but he didn't make any more comments about her choice of names. He just smiled.
Chapter 7
Ryder found Kim Sun at Ivy's house, teaching Jean how to bake sponge cake.
"Don't fuss," Kim Sun challenged his boss. "You said my menu bored you, so I have learned beef stew, liver and onions, fried chicken and macaroni and cheese. Mrs. McKenzie taught me. In return, I taught Mrs. McKenzie to make Napoleons, crepes Suzette and sponge cake. Good trade, huh?"
"Good trade," Ryder had to admit. His pale eyes went to Ivy. She smiled at him, her eyes liquid, and for the first time, he felt nervous. She was going soft on him physically, and he was old enough to see dangers that she couldn't. He'd gone too fast, despite his good intentions. She wanted him, and apparently she was willing. But he didn't want her on the rebound. Even if she hadn't wanted her husband, she'd loved him. He wanted her heart much more than he wanted her exquisite body. But he wanted that enough to lose his head and take it, which would only complicate things. He had to keep the pace slow and steady, which meant, unfortunately, that he was going to have to draw back and put a rein on her impatient desire. He was going to have to manage that without turning her off completely or damaging her pride, and without going out of his mind because of his own frustrated desire. A tall order for a man violently in love.
Ivy saw the expression on his face and misunderstood it. Had she been too forward? Had she frightened him off?
"I'd better get up to the house. See you tomorrow, Ivy," Ryder said. "If you're through," he told Kim Sun, "you can drive me up to the house."
"I am through for now," the smaller man agreed. "Thank you, Mrs. McKenzie." He bowed his head to Jean.
"Thank you!" she replied heartily. "I'll fatten Ivy up yet with these new recipes!"
"She could use a little weight," Ryder said, his eyes sliding warmly over Ivy's slender body. "Not that there's anything wrong with the way she looks," he added gently.
"Flattery will get you supper," Ivy teased.
"Thanks, but I've got a lot of paperwork to get through," he said after a minute, hating the refusal when he saw her crestfallen look. But he couldn't handle being alone with Ivy much more today. His body was already giving him hell for what he'd refused it earlier.
"You still have to eat." Jean came to her aid.
"I'm taking your daughter to Paris next week," he pointed out, startling Ivy as much as her mother. "It's a business trip, but she'll have time to shop and do some sight-seeing. The condition is that I have all my work caught up first."
"In that case," Ivy said softly, "please go home, Ryder."
He laughed. "Heartless woman. First you offer to feed me, then you send me packing. At least I get to take the cook with me. Come on, Kim Sun. Let's see how you ruin fried chicken."
The little man glowered at him. "You wait and see how nice I make it, then there will be no more smart remarks!"
"Promises, promises," Ryder murmured.
They went out the door with a wave, still arguing.
"You look happy," Jean remarked when they were sitting down to their own supper.
"I am," Ivy said. She toyed with her fork. "I guess you know that I'm crazy about him."
"Yes."
"I hope it's not too soon," she began.
"Ivy, Ben's dead," her mother said quietly. "And I'm not as blind as you might think. I know that your marriage wasn't happy. I've pretended, because you seemed to want me to. But don't you think it's time we both stopped?"
Ivy gave in. "I guess so. No, it wasn't happy. I was running from Ryder and Ben knew it. I should never have taken the easy way out. I just hope it isn't too late to change course. Ryder is acting… well, strangely."
"How?"
"He can't seem to decide between growling at me and kissing me."
"That's promising." Jean grinned.
Ivy scowled at her. "I don't understand."
"Never mind. Take it one day at a time and don't rush your fences. I've discovered in my old age that if you simply let things happen without trying to make them happen, loose strings get tied up neatly. Try it."
"Have I got a choice?" Ivy murmured. She sighed heavily. "I wish I could go back. Ben might have been happy with someone else. He might still be alive."
Jean covered her hand gently. "Honey, you can't remake the past. You have to go ahead. Ben didn't have to marry you. Will you try to keep that in mind? If you made him unhappy or not, he had as much choice as you did about staying married. He could have asked for a divorce. He didn't."
"He knew how I felt about Ryder," Ivy confessed miserably.
"If he knew, he had even less reason for continuing a marriage that was going nowhere," Jean said sensibly. "You can't love to order."
"Ben drank because of me," Ivy whispered.
"He did not," came the terse reply. "You can't keep tormenting yourself like this! Ivy, pity is no basis for a marriage. And if you're honest, you'll admit that pity was why you married Ben. You didn't love him, you felt sorry for him!"
Ivy buried her face in her hands. It was the truth. Ben had showered her with attention at the same time Ryder was avoiding her. He'd cried on her shoulder, and she'd taken pity on him. That was all it was. She hadn't thought ahead. Part of her motive had been getting back at Ryder, showing him that someone wanted to marry her, even if he didn't. But her revenge had certainly backfired.
"My poor baby," Jean said gently, pulling the weeping younger woman into her arms. "It's all right. Facing problems is half the battle of solving them. You just cry it all out and you'll feel better."
She did, too. That night, she admitted for the first time just how much of a sham her marriage had been. Ben's problems had been largely of his own making, and her guilt and pity had probably contributed to them. But he'd made his choices, just as
she'd made hers. She hadn't forced him to marry her. Now that she'd come to grips with the failure of her marriage, she could start putting it behind her. Now she could concentrate on Ryder for the first time, and rediscover her lost womanhood. She felt wonderful.
That feeling lasted until the next morning. When she got to work, she found Ryder pleasant and courteous, but as distant as he had been when they'd come home from Arizona. Every time she came close, he withdrew. He'd said it was because he wanted her so badly, but she felt there was much more to his odd attitude. She only wished she knew what it was.
They left for Paris on the following Monday. Ryder's brotherly attitude had left Ivy in the dumps, and only the excitement of the trip kept her buoyed. Seeing Paris had been one of the big dreams of her life. Even now, she could hardly believe that she was actually going there, and with Ryder. They said that anything was possible in Paris. Perhaps the City of Lights could melt even his hard heart and help her win it.
He checked them into one of the ritzier hotels downtown near the Champs-Elysees. She could walk out on the balcony and see all of Paris.
The smell of baking bread, and the faint, foreign smell of the city, drifted into her nostrils as she stared out over the wrought-iron rail toward the lighted Eiffel Tower. Far away, the silver ribbon of the Seine flowed lazily through the city with its barges and boats, and nearby were the spires of Notre Dame cathedral. It was magic. She closed her eyes and could almost hear peasants singing the Marseillaise in the streets, hear the excited cries of the crowds on those long-ago days when the monarchy in France had gone to the guillotine.
There was such history here, such a presence. It was all she'd hoped for and more.
"Quite a view, isn't it?"
She turned at the balcony door to see Ryder standing behind her. His coat and tie were off, his collar unbuttoned. He looked as tired as she felt.
"It's the most beautiful view I've ever seen," she agreed. "Ryder, you look so tired."
"Jet lag. Aren't you tired? Or is your age a point in your favor?" he added with faint sarcasm. "I'm ten years your senior, after all. My stamina is a little strained."