Roughing It With Ryan

by Jill Shalvis

  “All week, I imagine, getting that tree out and the others down.”

  All week. Would he talk to her in that voice of his, the one that said she was the only woman he saw? Would he touch her with those warm, sure hands? Or better yet, would he lean in and put that incredible mouth back on hers…?

  Oh, boy, there it went again, her vivid imagination. She didn’t want this inexplicable attraction. No sirree. She didn’t need anyone or anything but herself and her chef job.

  No matter how much her tingly nipples told her otherwise.

  4

  IT HAD BEEN JUST A KISS.

  That’s what Ryan told himself. All night long.

  But he wouldn’t have felt “just a kiss” from his head to his toes.

  And let’s not forget all the hot spots in between.

  Sure, there were plenty of logical reasons for the almost chemical-like attraction between himself and Suzanne, two perfect strangers. For one, the situation itself had been terrifying. Obviously, that had played a big role in what had happened between the two of them up there in that loft, trapped alone on a dark, stormy night.

  But somehow he knew, deep in his gut, the instant connection he’d felt with her couldn’t be blamed on the events of the evening. Nor could the way he would have done anything—anything—just to keep her safe.

  Unrested, and oddly driven to see her again in the light of day, he woke his crew at dawn. Not difficult as they were crashed on his couch.

  When he flipped on the lights in the living room, Russ groaned and buried his face into the couch cushion. “Five more minutes, Mom.”

  Mom had been gone for seven years. In fact, it had been Ryan to wake up his younger brothers for school every morning since, and still, no matter how much time went by, Russ, not a morning person, always talked to Mom first.

  Ryan hauled the blankets off the nineteen-year-old, and did the same to Russ’s twin, Rafe, who’d some time in the night fallen to the floor and stayed there.

  “There’s hot oatmeal and coffee,” he told them.

  “Hurry, we’ve got a full day ahead.”

  “We just went to bed,” Rafe whined.

  “And now we’re getting up.”

  “Donuts would be better.” Rafe stumbled to the bathroom. After a moment he poked his head back out. “We saving any pretty redheads today?”

  Ryan kicked the already back-to-sleep Russ’s feet off the couch. “The only thing in your future today is a tree. A big tree. Our white knightship is over.”

  “Ah, man.” Russ sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face, then suddenly brightened. “Hey! Don’t wear a shirt today, just in case.”

  “In case what?”

  “In case the pretty redhead decides to get wet in a tank and panties again.” Russ grinned wickedly. “If you don’t have a shirt to give her, then…” His eyebrows jerked up and down suggestively.

  Ryan hauled the covers off him. “Get up, you pervert.” He strode toward the kitchen. “And as for making fun of last night, she could have died up there in that loft.”

  “Jeez, Ryan, I was just kidding.” Russ stood and stretched. “But you can’t blame a guy for dreaming about the way she looked all wet and—” When Ryan stopped and sent him an intensely black look, Russ closed his mouth. “I’m going to eat now.”

  “Good idea.” Ryan went into the kitchen, leaned against the counter and closed his eyes, because he needed to think about something other than the image Russ had just put back in his brain. The one of Suzanne, drenched, with her clothes—his shirt—molded to her every curve, of which she had damn plenty.

  “You like her or something?” Russ asked, following him. “Because you seemed awfully into her last night.”

  His siblings put an enormous amount of energy into finding Ryan a woman. It didn’t take a genius to understand they wanted him happy. Which is why he pretended to date while actually going to college, just to keep them off his back. But as Suzanne seemed to have blindsided him with a genuine attraction he hadn’t felt in a very long time, he didn’t want to talk about it. Or her. “What I’m into,” he said, “is getting to work. Today.”

  “Okay, okay. You’re awfully touchy this morning.”

  Yeah, he was. And that he couldn’t seem to help it disturbed him more than he would ever have admitted.

  THE STORM HAD MOVED ON as fast as it had come, leaving the Southern California day beautiful and glistening. Ryan drove, listening to his brothers chatter about some party they were going to go to that night. South Village traffic was light at seven o’clock in the morning, although there were lots of pedestrians about. A woman jogging past in short shorts and a sports bra caused both Rafe and Russ to bump their faces against the window as they craned their respective necks trying to get a better view.

  “Grow up,” Ryan muttered, thinking he should have had another cup of coffee.

  “If growing up means not looking at a chick like that, then no thank you.”

  “Shut up, Rafe.” Russ gave Ryan a long worried look. “What’s the matter?”

  “What? Nothing.”

  “It’s something for you to not look at a beautiful woman,” he insisted. “You always look. Hell, then you sleep with half of them.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. Not even partially true.

  Okay, maybe partially true. In his twenties he’d been somewhat of a—

  “Slut,” Rafe said proudly. “I want to be just like you.”

  If they only knew. Between keeping the business going so he could feed everyone, and going to school, he was too tired to be a “slut.” Half the time he was too tired to even think about sex. Sorry state for a thirty-two-year old. “Not everything revolves around sex.”

  “Yes it does,” Russ said, and Rafe laughed.

  They pulled up to the jobsite. Surveying the damage of the fallen tree in the light of day, Ryan let out a slow whistle. Last night they’d simply gotten Suzanne out and put supports under the fallen tree to protect the building from further damage. Getting that baby off the building was going to be tricky. To get a better feel for what had to be done, he climbed a ladder alongside the trunk of the tree. Halfway up, he paused to put on his work gloves, and then went utterly still.

  He had a good view into the second floor window, which was apparently a bedroom, given that he was looking at the largest bed he’d ever seen.

  And in it, together, were two sleeping females.

  Taylor and Suzanne.

  MORNINGS WERE not Suzanne’s thing. She’d rather be tortured on the rack than have to leap out of bed. And yet given the persistent stab of sunlight against her lids, she could surmise she needed to do exactly that if she wanted to get to the restaurant in time for the start of her shift.

  Slowly she opened her eyes, keeping the rest of her body still. She’d sell her soul for coffee. Or cold pizza.

  Yet somehow she doubted Taylor had cold pizza in her fridge.

  As Suzanne’s eyes focused, she could see Taylor still slept, looking as disgustingly put together and gorgeous as ever. How did the woman do that, hardly messing up a hair on her head during sleep? It was nothing short of amazing. If she wasn’t so damn generous and giving, Suzanne would have hated her on principle.

  Her gaze wandered to the window. Instead of the Los Angeles skyline smudged by smog, she saw a pair of wide shoulders, and a broad chest silhouetted by the sun, topped by the face that had headlined her dreams all night long.

  Ryan.

  With the sun behind him, she couldn’t see his expression, but she could feel the tension in his big body, and knew he could see her much more clearly than she could see him. Beneath the luxurious covers, her body tingled, coming to the state of awareness she was beginning to associate with him. Lifting her hand, she waggled her fingers at him.

  He mirrored the gesture, adding a crooked smile that somehow replaced her need for coffee, and continued his way up the ladder. She caught a flash of flat belly, lean hips, then long, long legs, before he
vanished completely, leaving her to her own thoughts.

  Thoughts that were suddenly far, far away from work and the day ahead. Thoughts that took her back to how she’d felt in his arms.

  EXTRACTING THE TREE was physically intensive work. Ryan stopped to call for extra help from a labor pool he shared with some local contractors, and hoped like hell he got skilled guys.

  As always on a big job, he worried about Rafe and Russ, but they were holding their own, directing the other crew members with such knowledge and authority Ryan felt a burst of pride.

  He also felt regret. Yes, Rafe was going to college part-time, but Russ had taken the semester off, and Ryan worried that he’d never get them both through it.

  He didn’t want them to be tree guys, as he’d been forced to be. As their father had been before him. He wanted so much more for them, but the truth was, they simply loved the work. How ironic was that, the business he’d worked at simply to keep a roof over their heads had become both the means and the end. Would it be such a bad thing if Russ and Rafe took over the business?

  Wondering what he was supposed to do with that, he caught sight of a quickly moving female off to the side. A redheaded female.

  Suzanne was racing out of the building toward her car, her hair loose and flowing past her shoulders. She wore some sort of gauzy skirt and matching sleeveless blouse, with bracelets up one arm that jangled as she ran.

  Not much of her amazingly lush body showed—not that he was noticing. In fact, he tried mightily not to look too hard.

  And failed.

  “Caught ya,” Rafe whispered in his ear. Laughing, he clapped his brother on the shoulder.

  Ryan ignored Rafe for the moment and kept watching Suzanne, who hurried along, her breasts moving in a gentle bounce beneath her blouse. She slipped into her car and revved out into the street as if she had a fire on her tail. Her very fine tail, which Ryan happened to know looked unbelievably hot in white bikini panties. “That’s Suzanne,” he said.

  “I know who she is. The sexy babe we rescued last night.”

  Sexy? Hell, yeah, and he was going to have to deal with that. He just didn’t like Rafe thinking it.

  The taillights of Suzanne’s car disappeared. At least she didn’t appear to be suffering any ill effects from last night.

  “Ryan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

  That snapped him out of it. What the hell was he doing, staring after her like a love struck teenager?

  For God’s sake, he needed another person in his life like…like he needed a hole in his head.

  But there was no denying she drew him, at least at the base lust level. She drew him, and he wanted to see it through.

  “She looks good dry, too,” Rafe said lightly. “Hey, with your busy dating schedule, how are you going to fit her in?” With another laugh, Rafe went back to work.

  How was he going to fit her in? Ryan had no idea, but suddenly, he knew without a doubt that he would.

  “Ryan?”

  Still shaken by that latest thought, he turned and faced Taylor, who came out of the building wearing some snazzy number that had every man within two square miles losing brain cells.

  “I just dealt with the insurance agent,” she said, lifting a hand. “So bear with me, I’m feeling pissy.”

  He nodded. “Join the club.”

  She smiled, but her voice was pure culture. “Can I be frank with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “I know you think I’m a terrible person for allowing last night to happen.” She stopped him when he would have spoken. “Please, let me say this. The truth is, I couldn’t—can’t—afford this place. I inherited it, with no cash to fix it up. And despite appearances…” She lifted her arms out, indicating her own expensive attire. “I have no income, at least not for the foreseeable future.”

  “This doesn’t bode well for me getting paid,” he said lightly.

  “You’ll get paid. I think I’ve figured out how to get some quick cash, so let’s go ahead and trim back those other trees you were worried about as well, and I’ll have your money by the end of next week. I hope that’s okay, because—”

  “It’s okay.” He managed a smile even though he was still flummoxed over the realization he intended to see Suzanne again, and soon.

  “Are you sure?” Taylor asked.

  Hell, half his clients didn’t pay him until he threatened legal action. The end of the week would be just fine. “Don’t worry, we’ll make you safe. In any case, the worst is certainly over.”

  Taylor studied the building so desperately in need of renovation. Her worried frown didn’t fade. “Let’s hope so.”

  5

  SUZANNE DROVE HOME from the Café Meridian on autopilot, numb from shock. She was unemployed. How could that be? Lately, her life seemed to be a really bad comedy—only she wasn’t laughing.

  Some of that numbness wore off as she parked in front of the building she’d promised not to move out of yet had no means to pay for.

  Work removing the tree was underway, leaving the front yard of the building little more than a mountain of fallen branches and wood rounds. Men moved around, intense and concentrating. Not surprisingly, Suzanne’s eyes honed right in on one in particular. Ryan.

  Even from a distance, he had an authoritative quality to him as he worked, talked, coaxed, gestured. There was just something in his movements that set him apart, made her stomach quiver with recognition—and more.

  Still walking, still gesturing, he turned, vibrant and charismatic, and lost in the passion of his work.

  Ryan.

  He wore denim and cotton, same as everyone else, but he didn’t look like anyone else. His chest was broad, his arms well toned, his belly flat and corded. Muscles, muscles everywhere, she thought, a little dazed. And every one of those muscles was in defined relief as he moved in and around the fallen tree, calling out orders, picking up a saw, bending over a large branch himself.

  The oak tree had been pulled off the building and lay across the front of the yard, looking almost harmless as the crew of men worked on it with chainsaws.

  Harmless, ha! Given the gaping hole left in the wall—her wall—the loft apartment would be out of commission for a good while. Suzanne felt bad for Taylor, but it was hard to concentrate on that with her own life in the toilet.

  And now that she was no longer numb—thank you lust hormones, and thank you Ryan, not—she vibrated with anger over what had just happened to her at work. Fingers shaking, she tore her gaze off Ryan’s body and went through her purse for her cell phone. She found a pen out of ink, her plain Chap Stick and a half-burned vanilla votive candle, but no cell phone. Dumping out the contents of her purse, she pushed aside her unpaid Visa bill and a letter from ex-fiancé number two, begging her to try again, and finally located the phone. She could only hope she had an operating battery.

  She did, but there was no reception. Great, because heaven forbid anything go her way today. She got out of her car, not forgetting to grab the bag with the gallon of ice cream she’d helped herself to from the café.

  But still no reception.

  Eye on the digital readout, she kept moving. Every few feet she paused, waiting, her rarely indulged redheaded temper gaining speed the longer the phone refused to work.

  She backed up, moved to the side, even stomped her foot, and finally her phone obediently beeped its working status. Punching in the number for her ex’s office, she sat on a round of wood and opened the bag with the ice cream. She’d thought ahead to grab a spoon as well, and had just taken her first mouth-watering bite of decadent double-fudge chocolate ice cream when Tim came on the line.

  “Suzanne.” His voice was kind. His voice was always kind, which now that she thought about it, annoyed the hell out of her. Did he have any other feelings like anger or frustration?

  “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  What could he do for her? Die a horri
ble, painful death, for starters. “Tim, I thought you were okay with our break-up.”

  “Well…I still miss you, you know that. I’ll always miss you.”

  A load of dog poop, as she knew damn well from his sister that he had moved on from boinking the cleaning lady to boinking his secretary. “If that’s true, why did you—”

  “Suzanne? Hello? You still there?”

  “Yes! I’m here. Tim, you—”

  “You’re breaking up. Hello? Hello?”

  Damn it, she could hear him loud and clear. She was going to break him up. Instead, she tucked the ice cream container under her arm, stood and backed through the yard a little further. There. “The reception is fine,” she said through her teeth. “So please, tell me why you’ve decided to wreck my entire life.”

  “A little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

  “What?” In the Carter fashion, she laughed in the face of emotion. Better they see you laugh than cry. “Melodramatic? No, I’m not being melodramatic. But I can give you melodramatic if you’d like.” She stopped to shove a huge bite of slightly melted ice cream into her mouth. She almost groaned with pleasure at the rich flavor, but dragged her mind back to the task at hand. “Why did you get me fired?”

  “Oh, that. It was too painful for me to know you were working at my sister’s restaurant. I could never go there without being reminded of the emotional distance, the break-up…so I found someone else better suited for it, that’s all.”

  “What? You found a better chef than me? Who?”

  “Someone who will love me the way I deserve.”

  She winced. “Tim, what does that have to do with cooking?”

  “It’s my new girlfriend. She’s thrilled, so thrilled she promised me all sorts of favors.”

  “You— Argh!” Forget calm. Calm was gone. Her redheaded temper overpowered all typical Carter family behavior. “You got me fired so you could get an assortment of sexual favors?”