Fire Heart (Broken Bottle Series Book 2)

by Taeuffer, Pamela

  “Are you kidding, Ryan—a memory? I won’t live through this,” I teased respectfully. “A memory he says. Sure. By the way, my parents don’t have instructions on what to do with my body, so I need to write a note. Make sure you give it to them, okay?”

  “I know what to do with your body . . . I don’t need a note.” He laughed briefly and then ran his hand along the side of my head.

  “God, you’re—"

  “Just one more dance. We’ll stay right here at our table.” His arms slipped under mine and held my waist. As we stood together, I knew if he didn't hold me up my legs would give way.

  “Have you ever considered how perfectly we fit?” His voice was calm and his eyes seemed at peace. I thought he had turned a corner and was talking about something entirely different.

  “We do have a lot in common. I've felt that from last year."

  “I mean the way our bodies naturally slide into each other’s curves and valleys." His hand crawled up my back and rested on the nape of my neck. "You naturally reach for my waist without me asking you for a hug.” I found myself leaning against him, straining to hear his seductive comments. “Have you ever thought about why?” His hand cupped my chin. I lifted my gaze and watched the light shift in his eyes. “Nicky?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re so . . .” He looked all over my face. “Your lovely body is the perfect height for me. Don’t you notice how easily my arms slip around your shoulders?”

  He kissed my cheek.

  “Don’t you, Nicky?”

  “Uh-huh.” Don't ask me any more questions.

  “Your cheek fits into my hand so naturally; feel the way you respond to my caress and welcome my kiss. It’s as if we’ve been made for each other, our souls waiting to come together. We're here. We're ready. The way you look up at me . . .” He sighed. “The expression in your eyes is so innocent, and yet they tell me, without any doubt, you’ve opened your heart just for me.

  “When you take my hand and give me a little kiss? I can hardly contain myself," he continued. "If any part of your skin touches my nakedness, even my arm, hand, or cheek, I come undone. My body hardens and my muscles fill with blood in the anticipation of getting ready for you. You don't even have to speak. All I need to do is watch the way you help others, or brush against me and flash your brilliant smile. I want to be all over you, and I’ve been thinking about how I could do it for more than a year.

  “You bought that dress for me so you'd have something special and even shopped for extra pieces so we could be together more often. You must know how you’re inviting me into your life. You want me like I—”

  “Yes!” Enough! I can't take it! I was morphing into a sloppy mess. “Yes, Ryan. I did. I do. Please stop talking.”

  “Nicky?”

  “I know.”

  “What do you know?” he pressed on.

  “Just . . .”

  “Are you weak?” he smiled.

  “You know I am.” I looked away. “I’m sure you’ve been told hundreds of times, but it's not fair. You’re not fair. Not fair at all.”

  “You’re the one who isn't fair. Don't you understand how weak you make me? You have since I first saw you sitting in the bleachers. I couldn't believe I was seeing the woman of my dreams.” His arm covered my shoulder. His hand slowly turned my head. He sucked and bit lightly on my bottom lip and then covered my mouth as his desire strengthened.

  I took several breaths as we sat down, but never broke eye contact with his handsome face.

  I have to show him I can match him this way.

  “So, are you doing something with Chris and Frances before your game tomorrow?”

  “We’re going out afterwards. I kept the first part of the day open in case you, well, first tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Our heirloom tomato salads arrived. I put an entire slice of tomato in my mouth and savored the simple salt and pepper seasoning with drizzled balsamic vinegar.

  “I was thinking maybe we could go to Yountville. I know the vets want to thank you for the jerseys you gave them; they’d love to see you.” I dipped a piece of bread into the dressing. “Johnny and his mom were so excited—you should’ve seen their smiles. He put on his jersey right away. Oh yeah! I’ve wanted to tell you, they're going to be the guests of honor at the Brain Injury Awareness fundraiser this winter in LA!”

  “We’ll have to go to that,” he said confidently and then took a big bite of the salad.

  “That would be so great. I hope we get invited." I crossed my fingers. "I wonder if Alex can get us invitations? Her agency is a cosponsor for the event. I'd really love to go. I'll have to find some way to keep Mr. Del Sol's attention so he doesn't forget me.”

  “I don’t think an invitation will be a problem.” He laughed his sexy laugh. “Yountville it is.”

  “Where were you going to suggest we go?” I took a long drink of my virgin daiquiri. “Mmm that's good. Before, when you hesitated and then you said you kept the day open, where did you want to go?”

  “The same as you suggested,” he confirmed. “I had a suspicion you might want to go there. I owe you a few visits per our original deal, after all.”

  “Yeah, I forgot about that.”

  “You’re not keeping score?”

  “Not anymore,” I confessed.

  Our crab cakes came and we went through them in no time. The chef had thoughtfully given me one that was oversized. When dinner arrived, our conversation began to flow like running water.

  “Saturday, we have a day game as I’m sure you know,” he moistened his lips.

  “Well, yeah, we’re cheering."

  “I talked to your sister about double dating Saturday. Is that okay with you?”

  “When did you talk to her?”

  “Tonight, when I picked you up.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Yes.” He winked and a playful grin said hello.

  Of course she said yes. Does anyone tell you no?

  “Jenise met someone at school and she’s afraid to bring him home.” I swirled the cream in my daiquiri.

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s African American. She’s worried our parents won’t approve or they’ll say something to embarrass her.”

  “Hopefully when your folks meet him, they’ll look beyond that and see him as an individual.”

  “It'll be a tall order. A black man put a gun to Dad's head and he's held it against the entire race ever since. Unfortunately, it seems his worst experiences were with people of color—at least that's how he remembers them."

  "For your sister's sake I hope he's able to put that aside." He shook his head.

  "I hope so, too." I finished the last bite of my rice. "Ryan?”

  “Yes, honey?” He held my hand.

  “Please put in a good word for my sister with your contacts.” My eyes began tearing. “She’s worked so hard to overcome her trauma. I didn’t realize how important her career is to her. When we went to dinner last night, she really opened up. We’re getting so close again and it would mean everything to her. Of course I'd be grateful and I'd give you a few extra kisses.”

  I giggled and ate the cherry at the bottom of my drink.

  Ryan's expression became serious.

  He could throw a mean fastball, but that night, I threw him a big curve. I shifted the question of trust back into his lap. He had asked me to have faith and try a relationship with him, but my silent question was, are you able to let go and trust me enough to know I’m not using you for the things you said you could do?

  “What is it, sweetheart?” His brows were knotted in concern.

  “I feel bad that I didn’t see her struggling. She’s come through her trauma a strong woman despite her family's doubts. You know she was my hero for years when I was little. The things she did for me . . ." Stop before you go too far. You don't know that you can trust him with your dark secrets. "She protected me so many times. My dad bea—he, she um . . . she
just needs someone on her side. Someone like you.”

  I could see his mind was racing. He seemed to drift away while considering the possibilities of my request.

  “I’m so confused."

  “How so?” he asked, his body jerking a little as if jolted back to the moment.

  “All I've ever wanted was to leave my house as soon as possible. For years, it's all I've focused on. Now, I don’t want to leave my sister and I don't want to leave you. The vision I've had all my life seems blurry. I’m not sure that’s a good thing. That’s what I mean about being with someone who has experience. What if I can't be a good girlfriend to you?”

  “I won’t let go of you.” When he lifted my chin, I gave myself freely to the passion in his lips. He looked taken over, as if only wanting to comfort me. “It’s natural to be afraid of things that are unfamiliar to us. We'll work through them together. I want you to have the life you envision; I only want to be a part of it.”

  We were quiet as we finished the rest of our meal.

  “Would you like any dessert tonight?” our waiter had the table cleared and had two dessert menus in his hand. "We have a molten lava cake that takes twenty minutes. Fudge spills out as soon as you cut into it and it's served with our homemade vanilla bean ice cream."

  I shook my head.

  “It sounds delicious, but just the check please.” Ryan answered.

  "Take you time," he left the check with us.

  “I have another spot I’d like to take you. Is that all right?”

  “Sure. Hey, Ryan?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Thank God, we’re not going to dance anymore,” I felt my shoulders begin to relax. “We’re not, are we?”

  “No. No more dancing tonight.” He laughed his beautiful, low laugh and paid the bill, leaving a large tip in cash. As we got up, I felt as if the room stopped to watch.

  “You’re a generous man. I’m so proud of that part of you.”

  He gave me a nice squeeze.

  When the hostess who'd fussed over him earlier gave him a sweet goodnight, he never looked up. Instead, he dipped me in front of her, held my body easily with one arm and his other hand caressed my cheek. His mouth curved against mine and I melted at the feel of his lips.

  Several patrons clapped in approval and when he lifted me to his body, I flattened my hand on his chest.

  "Thank you," I knew what he'd done without making it an issue.

  We walked hand in hand to the valet. In only a few minutes the car was at the curb, both of our doors opened.

  “I guess you didn’t need that ticket after all,” the man said as I started to get in the car.

  “What ticket?”

  “Your coat,” he reminded me. “It looks like the temperature inside is fine. You didn’t get cold.”

  “Oh, that's right!” I leaned over to his ear. "It really wasn't because I was cold."

  He nodded with a knowing smile.

  “To be honest, though, it's really warm in there. You might want to turn on the air conditioning for a while. Have a good night.”

  Ryan cracked up.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, sweetheart. Warm in there.”

  We drove to the Irish Cultural Center located in the Sunset, one of San Francisco’s many pocket neighborhoods. I was Irish, but I’d never been to the venue.

  “The Irish Cultural Center?” I questioned him when we parked. “What’s going on here?”

  “You’ll see.”

  We walked in, and as I surveyed the lobby I saw Frances standing off to the side as if waiting for us.

  “Chris and Frances are here?”

  He started to tell me more, but once some audience members recognized him, a small group gathered for autographs and photos. I never lost interest in watching how he conducted himself in public and stepped away from the circle for a better view. Dozens of fans wanted to say hello. The time he took to make them feel good was endearing. I not only got enjoyment from watching the look on his face, but also the faces of his fans.

  Frances walked over and gave me a hug. “Was this a surprise?”

  “Yes! I had no idea we were coming here. The whole evening was a surprise. I can’t keep up with your brother-in-law.”

  “That’s the idea, Nicky.”

  Chapter 32

  Chris Tilton Plays His Guitar

  “Don’t you get tired of having to stop for his fans?” Frances nodded toward Ryan and then led the way to a less crowded corner of the room.

  “We haven’t been on that many dates, but no, not so far.” I glanced back at Ryan and found him looking at me while signing someone's cap. A shot of hot liquid surged through my legs. “His fans are important to him. Truthfully, I enjoy how thrilled they are just to shake his hand.”

  “You’re a better woman than I am.” Her hands went to her hips. “I couldn’t put up with it. When that happens to Chris and the band, I step in immediately." She ushered me through the lobby and into the small theater. She had three seats reserved for family in the front row.

  "A little tip?" She put her hand on my shoulder. "Don't let them get too close. Plenty of women wait for just the right moment. If you allow them to interact too often, you're daring temptation to make its move. Women aren’t bashful, Nicky.”

  Is Frances subtly revealing that Chris cheated on her?

  "I'll definitely keep that in mind, Frances." I've already seen it!

  “Wow, that necklace looks fabulous on you! May I?” She held the emerald in her fingers. "We were with Ryan when he bought it. Gorgeous, just gorgeous.”

  “You were? When?”

  “Yesterday.” She took off her gold lame jacket and draped it across her lap. “Ryan was such a love. He kept rambling on and on asking our opinion of it."

  "What did he need to know?"

  "If we thought the necklace was enough or too much, was it too soon to give it to you—he was so worried you wouldn’t like it. I tried it on for him. I started to tear up when he said, 'I can't tell because you don't have her green eyes.' "

  "Oh." I folded my hands in my lap, holding onto the sweet moment as if I'd cupped a butterfly inside them. "That's so sweet."

  "It was," she agreed. "I wish he and Chris would let that soft side show to each other."

  "Me too. That Ryan's here is a good sign," I offered.

  "It means a lot to Chris." She crossed her ankles. "Anyway, I’ve been dying to tell you, we’ve seen Ryan with so many women . . . oh, shit, I’m, I didn’t mean—”

  “I know plenty about his reputation." My toes curled in my shoes. “You’re not revealing anything I haven’t already heard.”

  Or seen.

  “Don't pay attention to me." She playfully slapped her cheek. "Sometimes I need to keep my thoughts to myself."

  "That's okay," I encouraged hesitantly. "Go on."

  "What I meant is that we’ve seen plenty of random photos showing him with a woman at some social event or nightclub, but we’ve never been introduced to anyone. You’re the only woman he’s talked about and you’re the first lady he’s ever brought to see Chris perform. Did you know he’s been talking about you since last year?”

  “I’m overwhelmed by him.” My hand flew to my chest.

  “Guess that means you’re a special lady. What took you two so long to get together?”

  Well, I was seventeen and in high school. God, that sounds ridiculous. What do I say?

  “Don't know. Frances," I quickly changed the subject, "we both understand I’m not the sophisticated woman who should be on his arm.” I discounted myself once again; believing almost any other woman would be a better match for him.

  My feelings hadn't been acknowledged during my childhood and were discounted as unimportant when growing up. Until recently, I'd followed the pattern my parents had set for me—I believed my emotional struggles were unimportant.

  “My intuition tells me Ryan knows what kind of woman he wants.” She fanned herself. “After all, if
it was only social standing and beauty, hasn’t he been with her already? It's chemicals, and primitive stuff wrapped around things we don't understand.”

  “My brain tells me what you’re saying should be true, but on the other hand, Ryan has only been with those women. So no, I don’t believe it. The doubts I have—I really don’t understand what it is about me that attracted him. It’s like trading a Ferrari for a Jeep.”

  “Even so . . ." She started laughing. "A Jeep. Not quite, Nicky. Chris told me he's never seen his brother so watchful or concerned about any woman and neither have I. We've both encouraged him to bring dates to dinner or even when he visits us in the off season. He never has—until now. The way he touches you and looks at you, anyone who’s paying the slightest bit of attention can see the longing in his eyes. The look he gives you is about having it all.”

  “How did you know Chris was the one?” I was embarrassed and changed the subject.

  “His lingering touches, a certain look in his eyes, the fire of passion and warmth in my heart just from his voice. He’d call me with a little love wish or make up an excuse to see me. I guess it was his little bits of sweetness—well," she giggled, "some of the big bits, too.”

  Nasty stuff! I’m included in conversations about sex now!

  “I do see and feel all those things, Frances, but I’m still afraid.”

  “You love him, don’t you?” She sat up straight.

  “Yes.”

  “It shows. Have you told him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I understand.” She adjusted her pearl necklace. “It's a big deal." She turned to face the stage. "Chris is playing after this set.”

  “Oh, that’s fantastic! I can’t wait to hear him.”

  “Thanks! I think you'll enjoy their music. At any rate," she turned her head and smiled. "I wouldn’t wait too long if I were you." The tone of her voice held a warning. "You know what I mean?”

  “Yes.”

  The lights blinked and then went down, leaving only a faint glow by the entry doors of the theater and a strip of lights that were dimmed along the aisle.

  A man introduced the opening band.

  Applause and cheers rang out.