“Yeah, I passed out until this morning as well.”
“Comfortable?”
“Doable,” he laughs, rubbing his lower back.
“I’m sorry, you could have slept way on the other side of the bed with me.”
He raises one brow at me like I’m naughty for suggesting it. “I wouldn’t have slept,” he answers with a sly drawl. “Besides, you’re off-limits this weekend.”
I pout. “Breakfast smells good.”
“The coffee is done,” he points over to the hot caffeine.
“Where do you keep your cups?” I look at the long line of cupboards over the counter.
“Second one over, on the left.”
I open the cabinet and see a perfect line of matching coffee cups on the second shelf and perfect line of clean glasses on the bottom. The sight sends me into a silly giggle.
“What’s so damn funny?” he asks, scowling at me.
“You’re a neat freak,” I say teasingly. Hopefully, he doesn’t take it to heart.
“Huh, never been called that before,” he says, wiping up the grease from the splattering bacon. “I like order in my life.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” I quickly agree, pouring myself a cup of coffee. “Most of the time, I feel out of order.”
“So what do the insides of your cupboards look like?”
For some reason, I equate the thought to sex. I’m useless around this guy. “Uh, disorganized. Nothing lined up; nothing matches. I’m a mix-and-match girl, myself.”
Ian doesn’t say much. He looks as if he’s digesting the newest tidbit about the girl that crashed into him. I can’t help but wonder if his ex-wife was a neat freak, as well.
“How do you enjoy your eggs? Sunny side up, over easy, medium, or hard?”
A laugh escapes my lips, because he already knows I want it hard. I think he sees the devilish twinkle in my eyes, because he starts shaking his head back and forth like I’m a naughty little girl, and I am.
“Eggs, Rachel. Eggs.”
Whatever you do, don’t say hard. Go with the flow, I tell my voice. “Uh, over medium?” I seriously hate runny eggs, but if I say hard, I’m going to burst out into red blotches, run back upstairs, and hide beneath the covers.
“Over medium it is,” he drawls, making his own sexy comment.
“Eggs, Ian. Eggs.” I can’t help myself.
He flashes me a wicked grin, but I know there’s not a shred of wickedness in him. He’s clearly not the bad-boy type, so why do I want to turn him into one for my own selfish pleasure? He’s a clean catch, and I’m a dirty trawler.
“So, you don’t have problems dining in with me, it’s just out?”
The funny thing is I haven’t thought about it, because I’m feeling more comfortable around him. “I can do in, not out.” Why does everything that comes out of my mouth equate to sexual preferences. Good God, my mind is in the gutter this morning.
“Good to know. I was worried you’d starve this weekend.”
He serves me up a hearty breakfast, and the two of us sit at his dining table. The entire western wall of his house is a window to the ocean, and I’m mesmerized at the view. I can hear the roar of the waves outside and the wind whipping around the building. The sun is shining brightly, and the ocean in the distance sparkles like thousands of diamonds.
“It supposed to be good weather all weekend,” he says, while munching on a piece of toast. I’m surprised that he talks with food in his mouth. He does have faults.
“Gosh, it’s so beautiful here, Ian. You’re spoiling me.”
He smiles. “Yeah, I’ve got it good. I’ll admit it. Especially with you to keep me company. It makes the place feel alive again with the presence of a woman.”
My mind is back to playing house again, and I stare at him like he’s my husband. I merely want to be normal, happy, and at peace, but fear tells me otherwise. There’s part of me that wants to live my life in front of him as one gigantic lie. I don’t want him to know my past or my thoughts in the dark. It wouldn’t be fair to him, and I know it. He has the right to know the full-deal, especially if we take this further between us.
I watch him quietly finish his breakfast. He looks as if his mind has wandered off somewhere. Maybe he’s making a mental list of questions for my upcoming interrogation, and they’re being neatly penned in his psyche.
“So, what’s the plan today?” I say, interrupting whatever he’s thinking underneath his morning hair.
“Take a shower, get dressed, go for a walk?”
“Sounds good,” I agree excitedly. “Do you have a tide table?” When you’re at the coast, you have to have a tide table.
“Uh-huh, but I already know. It will be out in about an hour or so, why?”
“Because, I want to crawl around the tide pool by Haystack Rock.” I’m gushing like a tourist again.
“You like doing that?”
“Uh-hum. Love seeing the star fish, anemones, and all the other creatures stuck to the rocks.”
“Sure, no problem. We can go dig for clams farther down the coast, too, if you want.”
“Uh, just tide pool.” I’m not too keen about digging in wet sand.
“No problem. I’ll take you up to Ecola Park, if you’d like. Looks rough out there today. The waves should be pounding the rocks pretty hard, just the way you like it.”
What is it with all of these comments? Ian smirks, and I know the stinker knows exactly how that sounded coming out of his mouth. The man is definitely dwelling on my last statement to him between the sheets. Maybe he wants to oblige me. I get excited thinking about it.
“I have plans for tonight, but I’m keeping those under wrap,” he tells me with a mischievous glint in his eye. I can’t help but wonder what he’s got up his sleeve.
The attentive, sweet Ian picks up my empty plate and carries it to the sink. My eyes follow his movements, and I’m drawn to everything he represents. He’s a remarkable man, kind, generous, attentive, and emotionally healthy. He’s embodies all that I yearn for, and nothing that I am. I’m falling like a love-starved fool, and it scares me to death.
“Thanks for breakfast, Ian.”
“My pleasure, sweets.”
I want to attack his body, but it’s hands off. Rats!
Chapter 11
Getting to Know You
As promised, Ian drives me up to Ecola State Park. The narrow lane to the point winds like a snake through the Douglas fir and fern-filled forest. When we reach the parking area, I can’t wait for him to open the door. Before he turns off the ignition, I jump out of the car and gawk at the scenery. Ian just smiles over my antics and grabs my hand, pulling me down the hill and then back up to the long trek to the end of the cliff. I enjoy our moments of levity.
“I promise not to push you off the edge,” I tease him.
“You better not, or I’ll come back to haunt you with vengeance.” He frowns at me and then playfully tries to tickle my waist.
I scream and run up ahead. By the time we reach the very tip of the outcropping, I’m disappointed to see a crowd of other tourists. Ian wiggles his way to the edge, claiming a small spot by the railing. He pulls me in ahead of him, and then he pushes his body up behind mine, wrapping his arms around my waist.
The salty wind caresses my face, and I revel in the spectacular sight. Thousands of years of never-ending waves have shaped the rocky spires below. Each time a huge wave meets the obstacle in its pathway to the cliff, upon which we stand, sprays of foamy white water leap high into the air and then sink back into the Pacific Ocean. It’s a powerful, roaring thunder that fills my ears and brings delight to my soul.
“Look.” Ian points down to a row of flat-topped rocks. “Couple of sea lions.”
A pair lazily lie together soaking up the sun. I’m awestruck and at peace standing at my favorite spot in all of the earth. My emotions express my blissful state, and tears trickle down my cheeks.
Ian hears my sniveling. “Hey, what�
��s the matter? Something wrong?”
“No. Everything is right.” I sigh in contentment.
“You like it here, don’t you?”
He hands me his handkerchief to wipe my eyes. Why am I not surprised over another caring moment on his part? I look at the initials IAR in the corner, and I dab my wet cheeks. He’s not getting it back.
“What does the A stand for?”
“Alexander.”
“Ian Alexander Richards,” I repeat in a dreamy tone.
For a few minutes we stand there, looking out over the blue ocean. Eventually, the others leave, and Ian and I are left together on the wooden platform. I turn around to face him. My back is against the railing, and Ian pushes his frame against mine. His hands grab the railing on either side of my body, and the next I know he has me pinned in a very compromising position. He has no idea what he’s doing to me as a woman, or maybe the rascal does.
“You’re mine now,” he drawls. His dark eyes look into mine, and I see a sexy, mischievous guy making me weak in the knees. Once again, his manhood is rising in his pants, and I’m growing nervous.
“Are you going to pin me against this railing all afternoon?” I stare at his moist lips, wondering how much longer he’s going to torture me before I can taste them.
“I might keep you here all afternoon. Feels good.”
“Ha! I can feel that it feels good.”
“You’ve noticed?”
“Uh, yes, it’s quite obvious,” I answer, feeling far too warm.
“Mind if I kiss you?”
“I think you’ll probably kiss me whether I mind or not, Mr. Ian Alexander Richards.”
Ian lowers his mouth toward mine. By this time, I’m aching for his body. He’s such a hunk, and he’s got me under his spell. How much more sexy could this moment be? I’m helpless before him. My eyes close, anticipating his warm lips, and sure enough, he leans in even harder against me and clasps his lips to mine. His tongue does this choreographed dance in my mouth that sends shivers through my body. It’s more than I can handle.
I put both of my hands on his chest and pull away. “Whoa there!” I exclaim, trying to catch my breath. “If you keep that up, you’re going to break your own rules.”
He smirks at me. “You’re probably right. I shouldn’t be testing my limits of self-control, because around you I don’t have any.”
That’s my slut magnetism, I think to myself. I just pull them in and do them. “Well, I don’t do well with self-control,” I honestly admit. “So it’s on your shoulders to keep us on the straight and narrow.”
“Fine,” he says, giving me a wink and releasing his arms from around my body. I can breathe again without feeling crushed. Our time alone comes to an end, as another group of scenery gawkers arrive at the end of the point.
“We’ve got company,” I announce. Ian turns around and grabs my hand.
“Come on, let’s go for a hike.” He drags me down the trail, and we spend the next hour trekking through the forest. At least it took our minds off of sex. I smile, because as I watch him walk ahead of me, I’m fixated on his fine rear in his tight jeans. Let’s face it, I’m beyond hope.
* * * *
When evening rolls around, I’m in a state of ecstasy recalling our enjoyable day together. We have a leisurely dinner, while I watch the sun sink into the ocean. The clouds turn pink and gray, creating a breathtaking sunset that mesmerizes me.
After the dishes are done, and darkness has arrived, Ian is ready for my surprise.
“Go get a warm jacket,” he orders. “No questions, just go.”
A chill of excitement runs through my body, and I run upstairs. I hear him in the kitchen with what sounds like the rustling of a paper bag. When I’m back down, he’s already donned his coat, and slung his backpack over his shoulder.
“Come on, we’ve got things to do.”
I don’t complain, but follow him out the sliding glass door. He leads me down to the beach and off to the left a few yards. A smile spreads across my face when I realize we’re headed for an outdoor adventure.
“You like campfires?” he asks, as we arrive at the surprise location.
“Yes, I love them,” I squeal like a little kid.
He places kindling on the stacked logs, which he must have gathered earlier. With a strike of a match, Ian lights the fire. Soon it cracks and pops, sending smoke up into the air. When the flames are high, embers fly above us and are carried off by a slight breeze. There’s a large driftwood log nearby, where Ian places a small blanket on top. We both sit down together, and I’m filled with romantic excitement.
The ocean is dark, the stars are out, and here I am with Ian. Like a fool, I pinch my wrist to make sure it’s not a dream. Why I keep doing that, I have no idea. Perhaps I’m afraid one day I’ll wake up and this will have been a delusion.
“Oh, gosh, Ian, how beautiful.” My heart is bursting with joy.
“I thought you’d like it,” he says. “I come down here a lot at night by myself and light a fire. It’s peaceful.”
It doesn’t take long for me to get lost in the surroundings.
“Do you want a beer,” he asks, pulling one out of his backpack, “or a Coke?” He brandishes a can.
“Do you always think of everything?” I grab the cold can and pop the aluminum lip open. He twists the bottle cap off of his beer and takes a drink. We both sit quietly and look into the fire as the flames dance before our eyes.
He turns his head and looks at me, as if he’s contemplating whether to start a conversation. I’ve been anticipating this moment all weekend.
“You want to talk?”
“About what?” I ask nonchalantly, but the muscles tighten in my jaw. Already, I’m reacting to the getting-to-know-you session that’s about to ensue.
“I’m curious about a few things. Do you mind if I ask some questions?”
Instinctively, I cross my arms across my chest as if I’m protecting my heart. “Uh, sure. You remember our deal, though, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
It takes all my strength to look at him and not feel panic. The dancing fire reflects in his blue eyes, and I melt. He must sense my uneasiness, because Ian leans in for a kiss. God, he tastes like beer, but I don’t care. His lips make me feel woozy, like I’m the one who drank a six-pack.
When he’s through sucking on my bottom lip, he leans back and takes a swig of beer. “Tell me about your family.”
The interrogation starts with an easy question. I can handle easy, so I tell him. “Like I said, I grew up in the Midwest. I have one brother, five years older, who I don’t see much. My mom died when I was eighteen from cancer, and my dad passed away three years ago.”
“That must have been awfully hard, losing both your parents so early, Rachel.”
“Yeah, I miss them.” And inside my heart hurts thinking about it.
“There’s nobody else?”
“I have a few cousins on my mom’s side, but they live far away, and we don’t talk.”
“What about your brother, how come you don’t see him?”
“He doesn’t want a relationship with me,” I say, frowning. “Besides, he lives out of state.”
“Too bad,” he says, disappointed. “It’s sad when family members aren’t close.”
“Okay, your turn.” I lead him away from the subject of my dysfunctional sibling relationship.
“Hmm, family.” He muses for a moment. “Mom and dad are still alive. They live down in the Bay area. Dad wants to retire soon.”
“What does your dad do?”
“Bank executive.”
I shake my inner head, seeing dollar signs. “Brothers or sisters?”
“Yeah, I’ve got one brother, no sisters. Jack is married and lives in Boston with his wife, no kids yet.”
“What does Jack do for a living?” Boy, I’m into his family career status.
“Doctor,” Ian says in a low voice, as if he doesn’t want me feeling insi
gnificant over my lack of education again. My simpleton head takes off with the rhyme:
Rich man, poor man,
Beggar man, thief,
Doctor, lawyer,
Indian chief.
I wonder if they sang that little ditty when they were kids to pick out their professions.
“Wow,” I respond, feeling like a grain of insignificant sand on the beach. “Do you see your brother very much?”
“No, we’re on opposite ends of the country.” He narrows his eyes as he’s trying to remember when. “Last time we got together was Christmas two years ago, when he came home to see mom and dad.”
“Do you talk much on the phone?” Ian chuckles and his eyes twinkle. I’m surprised at his reaction.
“Yeah, I call him a lot to complain. He’s got a good ear for listening.”
I’m so jealous. The list of positive points in Ian’s favor continue to mount. His family sounds wonderful. On the other hand, I feel like I’m sinking deeper into the sand underneath my feet, having come from a pretty dull and highly uneducated family background. What this man sees in me is beyond my comprehension. Maybe he’s going for dumb blondes this time, since his intelligent blonde wife filed for divorce. I just don’t get it.
Ian suddenly slips away. He takes a large gulp of beer, and I can’t help but wonder what emotions he’s shoving back down inside of him. Is it his failed marriage or perhaps lack of children? I’m suddenly curious about that point.
“You like kids?”
He turns his head and looks at me with a surprised raised brow. “Sure, I like kids.”
“Your wife didn’t want any?”
“She wasn’t ready. Her career was more important.”
Ian pulls his gaze away and picks up a stick and starts poking at the fire. He’s as bad as me, with his quick move to disassociate himself when under tough scrutiny. Frankly, I don’t want to talk about his ex-wife, so I drop the subject.
“Time for a treat,” he announces. He opens up the paper bag, reaches inside and pulls out marshmallows. “Here, hold these,” he orders, shoving the white puffs into my hand.
“Ooh, I love roasted marshmallows,” I reply, smiling at the thought of the sweet, gooey filling. Next, his hand returns into the bag, and he hauls out a box of Graham crackers and a supersized, dark-wrapped, chocolate candy bar. I take one look at the familiar brand and feel as if someone has punched me in the stomach.
Conflicting Hearts Page 11