by Fox, Sylvie
When she was done tending to the dog, she sat bolt upright in her chair, probably sensing his gaze.
“What are you looking at?” she asked. She’d caught him staring.
Telling her that he was admiring her skin or imagining himself stroking her cleavage was out. He stammered the first thing that came to his mind.
“I was wondering what that tattoo says.” He hoped his face wasn’t beet red with embarrassment at his fib.
She stroked her left shoulder reflexively, touching the two calligraphic Chinese characters. “Oh, this. They translate into ‘wisdom.’”
“Why wisdom?” he asked tentatively.
“What, you don’t see me as a wise woman? Not enough wrinkles yet, huh?” She laughed, smoothing her fingers against her unlined face. “It’s the meaning of my name.”
“So, when are we going to stop playing these games? You should just tell me your name now, so we can get that part over with.”
Fortunately for Sophie, the waitress’s arrival with their food saved her from having to answer. She’d gotten a chocolate croissant and a large iced latte. He’d ordered an egg white Florentine omelet and bread that seemed to have enough grains and seeds on it to keep up his daily fiber count with one bite. She stirred three sugar packets into her coffee and took a long sip while coolly appraising him.
“On a diet?” she asked. He looked like he worked out—a lot. The collared blue polo shirt stretched across his broad shoulders and flared out where his waist narrowed. She didn’t even want to think what the baggy cargo shorts hid below the waist. No doubt it was just as spectacular.
“I like to eat healthy,” he answered, taking a huge bite of toast.
She cleared her throat. “Are you a lawyer or an accountant?”
He answered seemingly without thinking. “I’m a lawyer.”
Sophie nodded knowingly. “Please don’t take what I’m going to say next personally,” she said, covering his hand with hers on the small enameled café table. She immediately wished she hadn’t touched him. Being near Ryan was like playing with fire, and she’d just gotten singed.
She liked looking at the weekend’s worth of stubble on his square jaw, hearing his well-modulated voice, touching his hair roughened skin, and kissing those perfect lips. Definitely kissing him. Crap, she thought, and pulled her hand away. She needed to stop this relationship—or seduction or whatever it was—before she got in too deep. Being with him would be like wading into a calm ocean with a deathly riptide. She’d be in too far before she realized she’d compromised her life. She needed to keep something back. She needed to keep everything back. If she told him her name, it would be the crack in the door. And Sophie knew, he’d come right in.
“You’re a nice person from what I see,” she continued. “Somewhere out there is a Seven Sisters graduate in pearls who is made for you. I know I’m not your type. We’d be like oil and water, and I don’t date lawyers—ever.”
She punctuated her comment by taking a big mouthful of pastry. The bite was way too big, she realized far too late. Her smooth brush off was ruined when chocolate went everywhere, and she did her best to catch what she could with her fingers. She was unprepared when Ryan reached across the table and scraped an errant dribble from her lower lip. She shivered as she felt his touch everywhere from her beaded nipples to her tightening womb. She wanted to damn her principles to the wind and give in to the feeling he aroused in her, but she knew better.
He sat back in his chair and smiled at her. The small smile didn’t quite reach his sad eyes.
“Sunflower… ” He didn’t need to say any more. Their attraction to each other was obvious—to them, and probably to anyone within ten feet of them.
“I know. That’s why I have to go. I have to get food, a bed, a collar, a real leash, and whatever else I’ll need for Sasha.”
“You should come back to my place.”
“What?” She must not have heard right. Was that a come on after her brush off?
“There’s no need for you to buy all that stuff.” He sighed, resigned. “I bought everything yesterday—food, a crate, a strong leather leash, and chew toys.”
“Are you going to get another dog?”
“I wanted Sasha,” he said. “I wanted you.” She could have sworn she heard him utter the last statement under his breath.
“Are you sure?” The real question was implicit in her tone. She wanted to be certain they were on the same page. She would go back to his place for supplies, nothing more.
“Yeah. What the heck.”
She should have guessed he lived off one of the more conservative canyon roads. The Hollywood hills divided the city of Los Angeles. They separated the Los Angeles “Basin” from the San Fernando “Valley.” Crisscrossing the hills, and connecting the more urban basin to the more suburban Valley, were a number of secluded hillside neighborhoods.
Each pass had a different reputation. Laurel Canyon was a haven for artists and sixties hippies who still clung to the ideals of that generation and decrepit VW buses, while Benedict Canyon was filled with nouveau riche movie and television producers. Coldwater Canyon, on the other hand, housed the bankers, lawyers, and every other suit in Los Angeles. So it was no shock to Sophie that Ryan lived in this area.
At his urging, she brought Sasha into the house. The dog immediately ran over to the full water bowl set out for her, lapping up the liquid happily but noisily, then she plopped down unceremoniously on the dog bed Ryan had carefully placed in a corner of a dining room that was so neat it resembled a movie set.
“Would you like to see the house?” Ryan asked. The dog crossed her front paws primly, and rested her head upon them. Sasha was settled in for the long haul. It sounded like Ryan wanted to show his house off, and the dog wasn’t complaining, so Sophie obliged, albeit a little hesitantly.
“Um, sure,” she said. The kitchen was a small but ultra-modern affair with a fully stocked wine refrigerator and gleaming new stainless steel appliances. The rest of the house followed suit. Everything was new and clean and somehow not entirely lived in.
“And you were going to bring a dog into this house?” Sophie asked, incredulous. “How were you going to deal with the hair and the inevitable doggy mess she would have left you with?”
“I bought a dust buster,” Ryan said, brandishing the new-looking small silver and gray vacuum.
Sophie did nothing to hide her smirk as she looked at him under her purple bangs. The rest of the house was bachelor central. She would never understand, in a million years, why all single men had black leather couches. Ryan’s was a black leather sectional, a nod, she guessed, to the recent trend in L-shaped couches. The house was modern with distinct lines, open skylights, and integrated upgrades everywhere. The master bath even had a bidet. A bidet, for goodness sakes. She didn’t even want to think about that.
The last room he showed her was the master bedroom. She had no idea why the view of a king-sized sleigh bed covered in a flawless tan and navy striped duvet made her warm all over, but she needed to get out of there—fast. She’d get what she came for and go home. Now. She was about to scurry her way out the door and into her car when she barreled into Ryan, who’d been leaning casually against the doorjamb.
He caught her in his strong arms and set her back just a few inches.
“I think I need to get going before I rip your clothes off and take you right here,” Sophie said, trying her best to scare him off.
Ryan had the good grace to blush. But her words had the opposite effect. “I think that’s an excellent idea,” he said, his voice husky. While she was trying to figure out what was a good idea, he kissed her. Sophie’s last coherent thought was that in the future she would learn to keep her big mouth shut.
Oh, lordy have mercy on her soul. His mouth felt as good as she remembered. Better. He tasted like the honey in his breakfast tea and warm, masculine heat. Sophie wanted nothing more than to give herself over to the sensation of his sensual lips rubbing
hers, having a time honored duel with his tongue. Maybe even do the horizontal mambo. Part of her hoped that with this man, at this time, things would be different. But they wouldn’t be. They never were.
Every time a man so much as made a pass at her, touched her, kissed her like Ryan was kissing her, she reacted like an adolescent.
But Ryan’s hands had a calming effect. They slid from where they had been caressing her shoulder and moved beneath the tiny straps of her tank. Her nipples puckered in response and Sophie’s fear subsided a little, her body softening, yielding to his touch. Ryan moved from kissing her lips to gently brushing her eyelids, her nose, and her forehead with his mouth. She relaxed. They’d covered this ground before. Kissing she could handle.
The panicky feeling subsided until he spoke, and pulled the strap of her tank top aside.
“Oh God, I’ve been waiting to do this all morning, to taste every last one of those freckles, to have you beneath me,” he whispered fiercely.
Sophie was breathing rapidly now, in full panic and retreat mode. Ryan mistook her shortness of breath for passion, and started to propel them toward the bed.
“I have to go, Ryan,” Sophie said, pushing hard against his chest. Cool air brushed against her bare skin, and she looked down, noticing for the first time that her top was askew. Embarrassed to see even part of her breast exposed to his intense blue eyes, she stopped on the bedroom threshold and adjusted her tank. “Sasha and I should get home now.”
He sighed deeply, audibly. He held his hand against his chest, calming his breath, trying to ease his obvious arousal. She averted her eyes from his tented cargo shorts until his breathing slowed.
“It’s not going to happen for us, is it?” he asked, shoving his fingers through his tawny hair, leaving the wavy strands sexily mussed. Her fingers itched and her body throbbed, all clamoring to pull him to her and soothe the ache they both felt. With practiced ease, she pushed the feelings away and turned her back on him, navigating the way to the front door.
“Ryan, it’s nothing personal, really,” she threw over her shoulder. “Can you help me load the kibble into my car?”
They silently packed the dog stuff into her pint-sized trunk and were barely able to close the lid. She put Sasha in the new collar and attached the multi-colored woven leather leash.
“You’re all set, Sunflower.”
“Thanks for all your help. You’re a truly nice guy, Ryan. I hope you find what you want out there.”
“And that can’t be us? You can’t bend your no-lawyer rule just this one time?”
“I can’t,” she responded quietly as she buckled herself, then the dog in safely. He’d even thought to buy the dog a harness for car travel. She turned on the car and put it in drive. With her foot on the brake, she spoke with a sense of finality that she hoped she conveyed to Ryan.
“I don’t date lawyers, Ryan. And I don’t like sex.” And with that, she sped off down the windy road.
Chapter Three
What normal person disliked sex? She sure seemed to appreciate what had been heating up between them in the bedroom. When Ryan finally fought past the cloud of his own arousal, which had blinded him to a lot, he realized that she was somewhat nervous or tense when they were necking like teenagers. He had chalked it up to the fact that everyone was apprehensive their first time with someone new.
Standing in the living area holding his very erect dick was not going to help him figure out what to do, if there was anything to do. He took himself to the shower to do something to ease the ache Sunflower had caused.
Sophie wanted to pull over somewhere on Mulholland Drive and bang her head against the layers of sedimentary rock exposed on the side of the road, but the sheer drops on either side of her car stopped her cold. She’d spent her teen years and her twenties working very hard to cultivate a certain persona. She wanted to be a very sexually confident woman who spoke her mind and could handle her man.
What was wrong with her? Two kisses and one caress from a man and she was putty in his hands, admitting her deepest, darkest secrets to him. Thank goodness he didn’t know her name. She’d never have to face him again and relive the humiliating episode in his bedroom. Any other normal woman, she knew, would have just slept with him right then and there. But not her. No siree.
A mere kiss and she froze up like an iceberg. No one used the word frigid anymore. It seemed like a word from a bad 1970s romance novel, but if the shoe fit… She shrugged wearily. The few times she’d been with a guy, it had taken a lot of Dutch courage to get her in the sack. Since she was not exactly sober during the encounters, she didn’t remember much, and what she could recall was downright cringe worthy. She was all bark and no bite.
Even if she could get over her sex problem, her anti-lawyer rule was an absolute. She’d lived under her father’s thumb for too many years to even go there with a man, no matter how much he wet her whistle. There were hundreds of professions out there, and she’d date anyone from any job—garbage man to CEO—but not anyone who’d passed the bar. She’d had a lifetime worth of uptight, rigid, and controlling men. No matter how nice Ryan seemed on the outside, she’d be a fool to get involved with someone whose profession defined his personal life. She was sure Ryan’s pro/con list for the dog and the neater than neat house exemplified exactly what she didn’t need in a man.
Two weeks later, Ryan tucked his hand-tailored, button-down, monogrammed shirt into his tan wool pants and debated on whether he should add a sport coat to his ensemble. When he tried on the navy blazer, even he had to admit it made him look ten years older. When did he get so conservative? He felt geriatric compared to Sunflower. Part of him—well, if he were honest with himself, all of him—wished he were spending the evening with her. Thinking about how he would dress for a date with her made him decide to vote a definite “no” on the sport coat. He looked in his closet again, wishing he paid far more attention to those metrosexual magazines he saw at the checkout stands and a lot less attention to the California Lawyer monthly journal.
Scrutinizing himself in the full-length mirror, Ryan decided that beauty was in the eye of the beholder. He wanted people to judge him for who he was on the inside. He laughed. There were two clichés that did not jibe with looks-obsessed L.A. He just hoped that his date was not as shallow as most of the women he had met in the last few years. If she was, it would be an early night.
He grabbed his car keys from the kitchen counter and ran his hand through his hair one last time, trying not to look at the empty dog crate still assembled in his dining room. It was time to forget Sunflower and Sasha. Most of his life wishes had come true—he’d overcome his hardscrabble background, and he had graduated from a prestigious law school. It was tempting fate to think he could have a woman just because he wanted her. Unlike his other successes, dating was a two way street. That’s why he was going out with Holly Prentice tonight. She had given an unqualified “yes” when he’d asked her out, no playing around, no games. Holly worked in marketing and community development in the vast world of Equia studios where he worked as an in-house labor attorney.
Equia Children’s Entertainment, quickly approaching its centennial, was one of the most well-known animation studios in Los Angeles. Its Otto the Otter trademark was almost as recognizable as Mickey Mouse. Ryan had met Holly when he had done some work on an insurance contract she needed for a volunteer event.
He had run into her on the lot occasionally after that. It was nice seeing a friendly face among the thousands of employees he saw each day. And if they both had a few free minutes, they would grab a coffee in the commissary. Since sitting at home, racking his brain as to why Sunflower would not date him was not getting him anywhere, he hoped a date with Holly, who was smart, funny and definitely pretty would break the hold Sunflower had on his heart.
The woman who answered the door was worlds apart from the woman he knew from work. Holly was wearing a tiny bronze dress that left little to the imagination and some kind of sparkl
y cream that made her skin glow. All that exposed leg and curly hair was wrapped up in a woman that was just his type.
Despite all that, he just wasn’t that into her. He worked to hide his disinterest, hoping he wasn’t too transparent. He made sure he kept up his side of the conversation while they drove to the appropriately trendy restaurant, and ordered the right wine and two of the celebrity chef’s specials.
Holly sipped from her wineglass and pushed around her uneaten dinner.
“Hey there,” she said softly, stopping him in the middle of a sentence. “I can see this isn’t going anywhere between us. What’s really on your mind tonight?”
Ryan closed his blue eyes briefly. “I met someone.”
Holly’s release of breath was audible. “That’s such a weight off my shoulders. I met someone too. Well not exactly someone new, but I’m sort of involved with someone I’ve known for a long time, though I don’t think I want to be… ” She trailed off, seeming a little embarrassed by her candidness. “What about you?”
“I met this woman that I can’t get out of my mind.”
“What’s she like?”
“She’s nothing like me. She’s a breath of fresh air. I met her in the craziest way. We were trying to save this dog on the freeway—”
Holly interrupted before he could finish his thought. “Wait. Are you talking about Sophie? My best friend, Sophie Reid?” She was suddenly more animated than she had been anytime that night.
“I didn’t exactly get her name.”
“But… Well, how would you describe her?”