Unlikely

by Fox, Sylvie

  “Lunch.”

  They hiked in companionable silence for the first hour. They’d let Sasha off the lead and she ran forward, disappearing around curves, only to run back, making sure they were still following her. For the first time since they’d met, Sophie wasn’t feeling insanely nervous around Ryan. The butterflies in her stomach had settled down for once.

  They reached a steep incline and Ryan grabbed her hand, helping her up when her short legs faltered. His grip on her hand was firm and reassuring, and if she was honest with herself, really nice. It felt good when he touched her, both in and out of bed. When the path evened out again, he didn’t let go, and she didn’t pull away, enjoying the constant contact with any part of his body.

  After a while he spoke into the silence. “Tell me more about Sophie.”

  She pulled her hand away, suddenly defensive. “What do you want to know that you already don’t?”

  He looked as if he wanted to smooth her ruffled feathers. “I don’t know your middle name for instance.”

  Sophie relaxed. Maybe he didn’t want to probe her innermost thoughts and feelings which she didn’t share with just anyone. “It’s Constance.”

  “Really. What does that name mean? More wisdom?”

  “No, worse,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s just like it sounds, steadfast, constant, you know, not flaky.”

  Ryan nodded sagely.

  “Yeah, you see why my parents were disappointed. I guess they were bargaining for a very traditional child, and they got flighty, artsy me instead.” She threw up her hands in mock surrender. “No lawyer, no doctor, no executive, just a make-up artist.”

  “Do you have that tattooed anywhere on that sexy little body of yours?” He looked at her as if he wanted to peel her clothes off right there. “Maybe I missed something.”

  Damn, she was nervous again. He needed nothing more than words to arouse her. “The one on my shoulder is the only one I have.”

  He came back to the subject at hand, asking more about her life.

  “I saw some paintings at your house. Are those yours?”

  “Nah, those belong to a few artist friends I know around L.A. I dabble in oils a tiny bit. I never took any formal classes or anything like that. My parents thought it was a waste of time. No one can make a career out of art, my father always said. Whatever.” She shook her head dismissively. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Where did you go to high school?”

  “What is this? Are we tripping down memory lane?”

  He didn’t respond, just waited expectantly.

  She sighed. “Flintridge Prep, class of oh two. What about you, Mr. Reseda?”

  “Flintridge as in La Cañada-Flintridge?” he asked, referring to one of the wealthiest communities in Los Angeles County.

  “Yeah, yeah. I just went to school there, I didn’t live there,” Sophie said, deflecting further questions about her upbringing. San Marino, in reality, wasn’t all that different than La Cañada-Flintridge. But she hated it when people defined her by her parents’ choice of hometown. “You didn’t answer my question,” she persisted.

  “What you would guess? Reseda High School.”

  “How did you like it?” she asked, then immediately regretted the question. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  He intertwined their fingers and kissed the back of her hand, sending shivers down her spine. “It’s okay. I’m used to the question. It’s just public school, not jail. I turned out fine.”

  “Yeah. You’re all right,” Sophie said giving him mock punch on the shoulder. Ryan pulled her close and gave her a kiss she felt down to her purple toenails. He pulled back, looking deep into her gray eyes. She wondered if her eyes reflected the stormy passion in his.

  “You’re a lot more than all right with me,” he said, though Sophie was sure there was more than met the eye in those few words.

  When they finally reached the top of the trail, the view was breathtaking. There was an uninterrupted view of San Gorgonio Mountain, jagged granite peaks topped with a dusting of early snow. She could see nothing of the vast lake from this area, which backed onto Big Bear. The quiet solitude and spectacular views more than made up for a chance to see Big Bear Lake from such a high vantage point. They veered off the marked trail, and Ryan spread a blanket in a small clearing surrounded by tall pines. He pulled out a portable nylon bowl and filled it with bottled water for Sasha. She drank greedily, then curled into a ball on the edge of the blanket for a much needed puppy nap.

  Sharing a meal with someone had never been so sensual. Ryan fed Sophie tidbits of dried figs stuffed with goat cheese, sparkling white wine, chicken salad, hunks of homemade bread, and small bits of a French chocolate brownie for dessert. He’d even thought about keeping them hydrated with sparkling mineral water. Though she pestered him, she never got an answer about when he’d made or bought all the delicious food.

  When talk about the food petered out, they lapsed into another companionable silence. Sophie couldn’t remember feeling so comfortable with another person that conversation wasn’t necessary all the time they were together. Without talking, she was more attuned to other things: the funny way Ryan’s too-long hair kept falling across his forehead even though he kept pushing it back, the flex of his muscles as he made their picnic area more comfortable, how the blue of the sky mirrored the color of his eyes. When their eyes met, hers slid away, unable to meet his gaze. An indescribable feeling filled her. It was a combination of the feeling she’d had when she’d had her first crush on a guy in eighth grade, that youthful mixture of hope and fear of the unknown, and that itchy feeling she got whenever Ryan kissed or touched her.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” he said.

  She looked up at him, but had to shield her eyes from the strong sun overhead. She reached behind her and fished in her bag, successfully retrieving her sunglasses.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours?” He didn’t so much seem like he wanted to ask a question, but rather wanted to say something else.

  “I’ll give you a dime for yours.”

  He pushed aside their picnic remains and held out his hand. Reflexively she grasped it and he hauled her into his lap.

  “Ryan, what are you—”

  He slid her sunglasses to the top of her head, traced the rings laddered along the shell of her ear, and pulled her face toward his. This kiss, unlike last night’s, didn’t set her on fire. Rather, it was tender and giving, and snuck into her heart, grabbed hold, and wouldn’t let go.

  She pulled back first and started talking before he could. “Have you ever done it in a national forest?”

  “No, and I’m not going to start now,” he said without much humor.

  Sophie wiggled her butt against his growing erection anyway. She wasn’t a student of body language, but she could tell Ryan was aroused. Men were easy that way. Another wiggle and Ryan responded as she hoped he would. He stopped talking and started kissing. She looped her arms around his back, pulling him closer and inhaling his wonderfully masculine scent—part soap, part sweat, and all man.

  She slipped her hands under his sweater and shirt and dragged her short nails down the smooth warm skin of his back. His kisses grew hungrier. They tumbled back on the blanket, his large frame covering her from head to toe. He quickly did away with her sweater and pushed her tank up, exposing her small breasts to the slightly chilly air. Her nipples hardened. The anticipation of his touch was almost as heady as his touch itself. Almost. He captured a nipple in his mouth, using his lips and tongue to sweeten her arousal. Her hips bucked when his lightly stubbled cheek brushed against her sensitive breasts as he moved from one to give attention to the other. She sucked in a lungful of air when his hands slid down to warm her belly and slid lower to brush against the elastic waistband of her panties.

  Sasha’s sudden bark broke the spell they’d woven. Ryan pulled up, leaving her suddenly bereft. His hip abutted hers and he rested a hand on the other
side of her hip. She was shielded from the view of anyone who happened by. No one came upon their private retreat. They heard the rustle of hikers on the trail who passed them by. Turning back to her, Ryan brushed a wayward lock of hair away from her face.

  “You, Miss Reid,” he grumbled, “are a distraction.” He eased the ribbed white tank down slowly, hiding her from his hungry gaze.

  Instinctively she knew he wanted to talk about a relationship or move on to a serious topic, and she wasn’t ready to go there with him. Not that he wouldn’t be the perfect guy to do that with, the lawyer thing notwithstanding, but serious, “going somewhere” relationships were not in the cards for her. She was a free spirit from her ringed earlobes and crazy hair to her purple toenails. Great sex, now that she had finally experienced it first hand, was in the cards, however, and there wasn’t any reason she could think of that they couldn’t enjoy each other for as long as that lasted.

  “I really like you, Sophie,” he said, tracing the freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose. Feeling vulnerable, she scooted back and sat up. She averted her eyes from Ryan and stroked Sasha’s soft head as the dog curled in her lap. “I wasn’t planning to say anything to you before the weekend was out—”

  She put a single finger to his lips. “I don’t want to do this now.”

  “I know this isn’t what you came here for, but we have an incredible connection, and I for one think we should build on it.”

  She laughed, a harsh sound among the whispering trees. “Like what, go steady?” she asked deliberately, ignoring the sting of rejection she saw in his eyes. “Ryan, I’m not that kind of girl. You knew that when you met me. You need a Seven Sisters, Junior League kind of woman. I’m exactly the opposite of that.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, you—”

  “I’m not selling myself short. I know exactly who I am, Ryan, and why I’m here. I thought we were on the same page. I came up here because we’re physically attracted to each other and…” She paused, suddenly embarrassed. “Well, you know why.”

  Ryan rose to his feet and started gathering the remains of lunch, his movements jerky. Sophie stood, and hooked the dog on the leash, giving her a few scratches behind the ears for good measure. When she turned around, he’d folded the blanket. The clearing looked as if they’d never been there.

  He pulled on dark, reflective sunglasses, hiding his expressive eyes. “You ready for the trip back down?” His voice was carefully neutral.

  She nodded and he tweaked her nose in a brotherly fashion, then started down the hill, walking at a brisk pace.

  Sophie had hated saying no to what he may be offering, but she knew it would be unfair to say yes when she couldn’t give anything in return. As she pulled on her sweater, the sun and cool breeze seemed to be mocking her. If she’d gotten what she wanted from him, why did she suddenly feel so alone?

  Sophie was sitting on a chair by the cold fireplace unlacing her trail shoes when the jarring bleat of an old-fashioned telephone startled her.

  Ryan dropped the bags in the doorway and sprinted to the phone.

  “Are you expecting a call?” she asked, incredulous.

  “I gave the number to Evangeline in case of an emergency.”

  Evangeline? Emergency? What kind of emergencies could a corporate lawyer have? Sophie’s father was a federal judge who presided over last minute search warrant requests and death penalty cases and even he almost never received emergency phone calls. She decided to shower the day’s sweat and dust off while giving Ryan privacy for whatever was going on with work.

  Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, Sophie’s hair was still damp and her feet bare when she came out to the open living area ten minutes later. Ryan was hunched over his little Blackberry so engrossed he didn’t seem to notice her or the dog who was dancing around his feet.

  He jumped when she tapped him gently on the shoulder.

  “Sorry. I was just going to ask about dinner.”

  “I have to go back to Los Angeles,” he said distractedly. At her look of consternation, he clarified. “Tonight.”

  Sophie stepped back as if she’d been slapped. “Oh. I get it. No problem. I’ll get packed up right now.” She turned on her heel ready to sprint to the bedroom and hide her mortification. It hit her where it hurt that he didn’t want her. She understood why, sort of, but it didn’t make it hurt any less.

  But before she could put more than a foot between them, he grabbed her upper arm gently, halting her movements. He put down the smartphone and looked her in the eye. “It’s not like that. This has nothing to do with us. It’s that just something I had hoped was under control blew up at work.”

  Skeptically, she lifted her pierced brow. “What’s so critical that you need to deal with it on a Saturday night?”

  “You of all people should understand that I can’t talk about this. Confidentiality and all that.”

  Their easy camaraderie from that morning seemed like a distant memory. In its place was a fragile bond that was growing more tenuous by the moment.

  “You know what? You’re right. I understand far better than you think,” she agreed. “My father certainly tutored me in those lessons.” Breaking the light grip on her arm, she turned on her heel and marched dejectedly toward the second bedroom where she’d put her luggage.

  They drove back to Los Angeles in near silence, Ryan’s very adult sounding jazz filling the car’s darkened interior.

  When he pulled up to her house, it was barely nine o’clock. She looked at the time, thinking dispiritedly of how she was going to fill the rest of the empty weekend hours. Hot wanton sex was not an option at this point. They were uncomfortably silent when she unharnessed the dog and he brought in her bags. She turned on the lights and kicked off her shoes by the door.

  Ryan shifted from foot to foot, jingling his car keys. “I don’t want to leave things like this.”

  Sophie plastered a smile on her face. “Don’t worry about it. I understand that you have to work.”

  He looked bewildered. “I still want to see you. As soon as this crisis is over, we should—”

  “Why don’t we cross that bridge when we come to it?” She gently pushed him toward the door. “Goodnight, Ryan.” The heavy wood door closed, the latch catching with a quiet snick. She heard his car start and watched his taillights as they disappeared around the corner.

  She walked the dog, unpacked her stuff, and ran to the twenty-four hour market to get fresh milk and eggs. She was proud of herself that she’d been able to hold off that long. When she came back at eleven, she broke down. Loud noisy sobs filled the room. Sasha, distressed by the sounds, leaned against her leg as if trying to console her. It was the first time she had cried in years.

  Chapter Ten

  The boardroom stretched from one side of the building to the other. The twenty-five people surrounding the table were cast in shadow. Speckles of streetlights barely penetrated the floor to ceiling windows lining three sides of the room. Even with subtle lighting from the hidden sconces, darkness swallowed the room. The gloom matched Ryan’s mood. Everyone looked like they would rather be anywhere than here. A few were dressed like him in cargo shorts and hiking boots, others in designer eveningwear. But no one was dressed for a last minute strike negotiation session.

  Someone’s overworked and harried assistant handed out thirty-page packets that laid out the demands of the studios and directors as well as the demands of Local 706. The only sound in the room was the constant flick of pages as the lawyers and union representatives on the negotiating committee scanned the papers they had been given.

  Why did these damned contracts always expire at midnight on a Saturday or Sunday? Were they written that way to make sure negotiators got to the bargaining table before their weekends were ruined? The timing ploy hadn’t worked this time. It was coming down to the wire on this one. He shook his head with regret. Unfortunately, the weekend was irredeemable for him and Sophie. There was nothing he could do to get back t
he magical world they had created in Big Bear. On top of that, he had ended the day, the whole weekend, badly.

  After incredible sex that morning, Ryan had wanted to take her on a romantic picnic and tell her that he was falling in love with her. But he’d butchered that completely, only to have to cut the weekend short for this. He slammed the packet closed in front of him, having barely skimmed its contents. He ignored the startled looks from others around the table. Instead, he raked his hand through already mussed hair and blew out a frustrated breath. This was not his finest hour. Thoughts of Sophie crowded work out of his mind.

  Keeping the news of an impending strike from her wasn’t required by attorney-client confidentiality. He should have told her why he had to leave early even if it had breached some unwritten ethical rule. When he was honest with himself, he knew he had hidden the truth from her because he didn’t want her to worry about where her next job or meal would be coming from. Around the table were representatives of the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees. In the industry, they called themselves Local 706. It was Sophie’s union of makeup artists and hairstylists and the top union people were threatening to strike unless the studios and producers came to the table with better residual payments, cheaper health care, and more upfront money over the life of the new contract.

  Ryan had not buried his head in the sand like an ostrich. He was more than aware, having grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, that it was very expensive to live in Los Angeles. Without pay raises, the union members wouldn’t be able to keep up with inflation, not to mention the escalating home prices. On the other hand, it was his job to get across the studio’s point of view. With hundreds of cable channels and dozens of entertainment outlets, the viewership for any particular television show or movie was much smaller than it had been in the past.

  Gone were the days when Americans only had three television choices and few movie options. Now shows were lucky to make a slim profit, and there just weren’t huge piles of money to divvy among the different unions, actors, directors, writers, and below the line workers like Sophie. Studios and producers had to spend every penny wisely. Extravagant pay increases and fully paid health benefits were a thing of the past.