SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW

by Donna Sterling

* * *

  8

  « ^ »

  Nothing could have prepared her for the stark astonishment in those gray eyes. Ryan braced himself on his forearm, and drew his dark brows together.

  All her rationalizing about truth and honesty fled in the embarrassment of the moment. For the first time in her life, shyness struck Sunny speechless.

  Staring, Ryan tossed the quilt aside and stood up. His broad, muscular chest was smooth and bare, tapering down to a lean waist above maroon silk pajama bottoms. His shiny dark hair was tousled from sleep. He looked like a jungle animal suddenly roused from slumber. Wary. Dangerous.

  Incredibly sexy.

  Anticipation spiraled through her. She wanted him. She wanted to feel his hands on her, to taste his kiss.

  The gentle May breeze rippled the lace curtains, a dusky lock of Ryan's hair, the sheer folds of Sunny's gown. Outside, crickets chirped and a dog barked. Night birds called.

  Inside, silence stretched between them.

  Ryan wondered if he was awake. Or was this all just another of those dreams that tormented him every time he slept.

  "Ryan?" Sunny whispered.

  His astonishment grew. This wasn't a dream. There'd be no question in her voice and eyes in any dream of his. What the hell was she wearing?

  With his fist on his hip, Ryan ambled in a dazed half circle around her, his gaze making a slow descent. Ivory lace against golden flesh; full, rose-tipped breasts barely veiled; tantalizing curves, shadowed valleys. She was round and full, sleek and flat, an angel—a beautiful, temptress angel—within an arm's reach. An angel that should have been his. A deep-seated frustration grew inside him along with a stirring heat in his loins.

  "Why the hell are you wearing that in front of me?"

  Sunny jumped at his fierce question. Shocked, she realized the glitter in his gray eyes and the tension in his jaw were not caused by desire, but by anger. She had wanted truth; now she had it. The intimacy they'd shared in the past meant nothing. She was his employee—only his employee—and he obviously intended to keep it that way.

  Never had she felt so humiliated. She choked out, "Sorry I woke you." Blindly, she turned away from him.

  In a half stride, Ryan blocked her path. "Sony's not good enough. I've been sleeping on a damned cot instead of in the bed to make sure I don't do anything improper in my sleep." His dark eyes flashed as his thunderous disapproval rumbled through her. "What gives you the right to strut around half-naked?"

  Mutinous pride kept her from crossing her arms and running for cover. "I'm not strutting around," she said with stiff-lipped dignity. "And I'm not half-naked."

  "You damn sure are." Again his eyes traveled over her body in a glowering path. Chill bumps tingled everywhere his gaze touched. "And it's worse than naked, Sunny. A hell of a lot worse."

  Her chin came up, even as her heart plummeted. He truly didn't want her. "If you don't like what I'm wearing, go back to sleep." She tried to sidestep him on her way to the bathroom.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders, and she felt the iron control he was having to exert. "Don't you ever tease me again," he warned through clenched teeth.

  Sunny's eyebrows shot up and her lips parted in surprise. "You think I'm teasing you?"

  "It might be a game to you," he growled, his temper flaring hotter with every word, "but it's not to me."

  "Ryan! I never intended—"

  "You didn't accidentally slip into this damned negligee.

  "No," she said on a gasp, twisting her shoulders beneath his tightening grip. "Of course not. But I—"

  "But nothing." His hands moved from her lace-covered shoulders to her bare upper arms. "I want you too damned much to pretend not to notice."

  Breathlessly, she whispered, "You do?"

  Ryan swallowed a groan. Her gaze had gone all soft and sultry. Was she taunting him? He knew he should drop his hands from her and walk away, but the beauty of her eyes and hair and luxuriant body infused him with a deep ache. "You know I do."

  Sunny's hand crept up to the ties between her full, high breasts and she tugged at the knots. The lacy edges of the gown's bodice slowly parted.

  His breathing, his heartbeat, his universe, stilled.

  "Was that an accident, Ry?" she whispered.

  Ryan searched her tempestuous green eyes—deeply, desperately—evaluating her intent. "It better not be, Sunny," he hoarsely uttered, "because I'm not going to stop."

  And just in case she meant to back away, he tangled his fingers in her hair, drew her irresistibly to him and kissed her with the savage force of his desire.

  Yes, he thought. Yes. She was sweetness, smooth as honey. A sweetness he'd been craving far too long. She was excitement, and adventure, and a bone-deep pleasure that fired him straight to the top of the world, then down for a gut-level thrill.

  But the kiss went on, beyond the familiar. And his ability to think exploded in the need to possess her. All of her. Entirely.

  He swept the loosened gown from her shoulders, down her slender back and curvacious hips, until the soft, diaphanous fabric pooled at her feet.

  The sudden skin-to-skin contact of her breasts against his chest intensified Sunny's ardor. She reveled in his kiss, in the sensuous demand of his lips, the domination of his muscled embrace, the sultry taste of his mouth…

  He moved from her lips to brush kisses along her throat, each one sending languid heat to every part of her body. His kisses slowed into hot swirls of his tongue, down past her collarbone, to the sensitive inner curves of her breasts. He circled and tasted each hardened bud. Sunny trembled in reaction.

  Ryan groaned and pulled away long enough to utter, "Protection. Have to get—"

  She pressed the foil packet into his hand. Surprise glittered in his eyes as he took it. Urgently, then, he fumbled with the packet, as she pushed his pajama bottoms down to his muscle-corded thighs. Together they dove into another kiss—deep, deeper, straining to reach a treasure hidden somewhere inside the other.

  With a low, primal moan, Ryan grasped the back of her thighs and hoisted her from the floor. He meant to carry her to the bed. But gone was the teenaged virgin he had seduced, the girl he had mesmerized with passion. In her place was a woman, explosively responsive in his arms.

  Her long, slim legs wrapped around his hips, and she arched herself against his urgent hardness.

  His breath came in hot rushes. Her body transformed into fluid motion. He forgot about carrying her to the bed.

  Their rhythm quickened; moans turned into gasps. She strained downward. He thrust up. His hardness probed, again and again, but her tightness impeded his entry. Slowing his movement, he determinedly entered her. And forced her down, down, to engulf him.

  A surprised cry escaped Sunny as intense pleasure penetrated regions of her heart she never knew existed. When she thought his pulsating love had filled her to capacity, he gave another smooth, urgent thrust.

  And for a white-hot, searing second, neither breathed, locked in ultimate closeness. Then he moved … the slightest move … and erotic shock waves convulsed them. Fused them, into one.

  Sunny's vision blurred with the heat. Tears stung beneath her lids. She had known their lovemaking would be beautiful. But never, not even in the frenzied passion of their youth, had it ever felt so right.

  They fell sideways onto the bed, trembling in each other's arms. Flesh to flesh, heartbeat to heartbeat. Emotion surged through Sunny with a pressure that forced words to her tongue. Dangerous, forbidden words. I love you. I love you. She didn't say them. Didn't even want to think them. It's the old hormone thing, she told herself. Chemistry, as Ryan had always said.

  You are not in love with him. And he's not in love with you. With painful clarity, she remembered his ferocious response all those years ago when she, on the brink of losing her virginity, had whispered, "Do you love me?"

  His instantaneous anger had frightened her. "I won't play mind games with you, Sunny, and you won't play mind games with me. I
want you. I might just die if you say no. But if you're looking for more than that, walk away from me now."

  She hadn't walked away. She had given in to his hot, wild kisses and made love to him all summer long. And when the time of reckoning came, he accepted responsibility without hesitation. He'd been there for her and their unborn baby.

  But he had never changed his mind about love. His comment during their picnic had confirmed that. "Show me a miserable human being, and I'll show you a victim of emotional dependence." He hadn't even wanted to say the "L" word.

  Lying there now in the warmth of his arms, Sunny wondered what had happened in his life to turn him so fiercely against love. It was almost as if someone had broken his heart, long before he had become romantically involved with her. But no one had, as far as she knew. At the age of twenty, he hadn't let anyone close enough.

  Maybe he'd been right about love all the while, Sunny reflected. Maybe it was just a mind game. When she thought about her mother's many marriages—all for the sake of "love"—and the heartbreak she herself had suffered when her own marriage had ended, she could see what Ryan had meant.

  So get your wits together, she commanded herself. If she couldn't, she'd have to walk away now. But as Ryan nuzzled the side of her neck, mumbled something unintelligible and molded her body to his, she discarded all thoughts of walking away.

  The hormone thing had always been enough for Ryan. This time, it would be enough for her, too. And if contrary feelings bubbled up inside her now and then—as they were right now—she'd never, ever let him know.

  Something pulled Ryan from his deep sleep.

  Sunny's body was no longer entwined with his. Awareness of her had stayed with him while he slept, like glowing embers warming a near-darkened hearth. But now he sensed her absence, and felt cold.

  He opened his eyes, and searched the sunlit room. Sunny wasn't in it. The depth of his disappointment startled him.

  The one thing he'd missed almost as much as her love-making had been the tender hours they'd spent in the early mornings, holding each other, warm and naked. Never, not even after their worst quarrels, had she lain separately from him in the morning.

  Until recently, of course. As in, the past ten years.

  Reality flooded him, like a bright white light, dispelling the illusions of the night before. What had he done? He'd made love to Sunny. Cursing beneath his breath, Ryan swung his feet to the floor and bounded out of bed.

  It had been a stupid thing to do.

  He snatched his robe from the closet on his way to the bathroom, cursing himself with every step. He should have known better. He should have been stronger.

  Opening the immaculate white shower stall, he turned the water on full blast and stepped under the spray. He'd been a damned fool. Making love to Sunny wasn't a quick, harmless roll in the hay. It was more like flirting with fire. A wildfire that could rage out of control in the blink of an eye.

  He knew that much from experience. One kiss that summer long ago, and he'd become obsessed. All he could think about had been Sunny. Everything else in his life could have gone to hell—had gone to hell—and he hadn't cared. But he'd been a boy then. Almost as naive as Sunny had been at the time.

  Not so now. He controlled his world now—with rational thought, not passion. He set the pace in whatever races he chose to run, whatever mountains he chose to climb. He lit—and extinguished—his passion when and where he chose to.

  And from what he had learned recently about Sunny, she now controlled her world. The passive young ingénue was gone.

  The hot, punishing stream of water beating against his face helped calm Ryan somewhat. And he began to remember the details of last night.

  She had approached him wearing a transparent negligee. And holding a condom. Even now, he could barely believe it, that she had intended for them to make love.

  Why? For the mere carnal pleasure of it?

  It was possible, he supposed. He couldn't deny the damned hormonal thing between them was just as strong—no, stronger!—than it had been years before. Just remembering her kisses and the passion of last night was enough to get him worked up again.

  He couldn't remember sex ever having been as good.

  So then why hadn't she stayed with him this morning?

  Uttering a violent oath, Ryan gritted his teeth and turned the water knob to cold. He had a feeling he would need quite a few cold showers before he finished this business with Sunny.

  And finish it, he would. As quickly as possible, without a repeat of last night. Because no matter how lightly Ms. Liberated might take their relationship, he wasn't about to chance being burned again. By anyone.

  He'd stick to women who couldn't burn him if they tried.

  Lavinia, looking elegant in a designer dress of black on white, with matching pumps and earrings, her dark brown curls impeccably styled, met Ryan in the Oak Hall at the foot of the Grand Staircase. "Thank goodness you're up. I was about to call your room. Where's Sunny?"

  Ryan frowned. "She isn't down here already?"

  "I saw her earlier," Lavinia replied, "when she set up the breakfast buffet on the sun porch. A lovely idea. The guests have been raving with compliments over the change. I should have thought of it myself. I haven't seen her since."

  "Ah, excuse me," interrupted Mrs. Lee, "but Mrs. Alexander went out with her sketch pad. Said she was going to draw."

  "Oh, dear," moaned Lavinia, looking worried. "I hope she returns in time."

  "In time for what?" asked Ryan.

  "The news crew is on its way."

  "News crew?" he repeated with a sinking feeling.

  "A local television station picked up on the rescue story. They want to interview Jonathon, Sunny and you."

  "This hero thing is crazy," protested Ryan. "I did what anyone would have."

  "Your modesty is charming, Ryan, but you must emphasize the fact that the boy climbed over a fence to get to that ledge. A tall fence, with warning signs. Any slur against our safety standards will hurt our business. And technically, he was trespassing, since he wasn't a guest of ours. But of course, we won't mention that unless it becomes absolutely necessary."

  "I'd rather not be interviewed at all."

  "But you must! This could give Windsong Place

  a nice publicity boost. A touch of human interest. If they can find Grady for an interview, the show might be aired nationally. It would cost us thousands to get that kind of exposure."

  Anxiety tightened Ryan's chest. He didn't like public exposure. On the other hand, bad publicity would hurt the inn he was about to purchase.

  "'Morning, there, Alexander," greeted Wilbur from behind him. "Sorry I was so late getting back from town last night. Sounds like you had a lot of excitement while I was gone."

  "Oh, it was exciting, all right," responded Ryan. "Did you bring the purchase agreement for me?"

  "Sure did. After this interview business is over, you can come up to my suite and we'll go over the details."

  Ryan immediately cheered up. The light shone at the end of the tunnel—the purchase agreement was ready to sign. Nothing could have made him happier.

  Lavinia invited him to a quick breakfast, but as they made their way to the glassed-in side porch where Sunny had set up the breakfast buffet, the news crew arrived.

  The next hour was pandemonium. The inn quickly came alive with fast-moving cameramen, technicians with lighting equipment and administrative aides carrying clipboards. Curious guests gathered in clusters to watch.

  In the midst of it all, the richly carved front entrance swung open and Sunny entered, clutching her sketch pad to her chest. She wore short denim cutoffs and an oversize peach knit top that had slipped slightly down one tanned shoulder beneath her windblown golden curls. Professor Collins accompanied her. Both of them stopped in obvious surprise at the commotion in the Oak Hall.

  Her green-eyed gaze met Ryan's, and from across the crowded room, he wondered if he knew her at all. He didn't beli
eve so. Because even though he could have correctly answered a thousand questions about her past, he couldn't even guess at what she was thinking or feeling right now. Her gaze was as neutral as a stranger's would have been. Why had she initiated their lovemaking last night? Did she regret it now? He found himself wanting to know.

  "There's Sunny!" cried Lavinia, bustling over to her. Hooking a hand around her arm, Lavinia ushered her to Ryan's side. "You stand right here, dear, next to Ryan, until they tell you what to do." She whispered to them both, "Think PR."

  At this close range, Sunny did not meet Ryan's gaze, which he found interesting. And disturbing.

  The smartly dressed blond anchorwoman introduced herself and rattled off instructions about speaking clearly and facing the camera, then explained that they'd be interviewing Jonathon first, and hopefully his father; they were expected any moment.

  Lights were being erected and adjusted around a grouping of wing chairs beside the fireplace when Jonathon Barrett charged in. To Ryan, he cried, "I'm gonna be on television! So are you. You'll tell them, won't you? About the Cullowhee lily I found?" Excitement blazed in his freckled face.

  "You tell them," responded Ryan. "I think you're first."

  "But they might not believe me."

  Sunny opened her sketch book and carefully withdrew a sheet of paper. "Here. This is for you."

  Jonathon took it and studied it with solemn interest. "It's my lily," he said in a wonder-filled tone. "On the cliff." He looked at Sunny, and his smile warmed even Ryan's heart. "I can show them now!" He jumped up and down, his straight, reddish brown hair bouncing. "Wait until my pa sees it!"

  He then caught sight of Professor Collins and ran over to show him the picture. "I found it, Professor! A Cullowhee lily!"

  "Yes, yes, I saw your lily this morning," rumbled the professor, his eyes sparkling, his pipe firmly between his teeth. "It certainly looks like a Cullowhee. Remarkable find."

  Ryan realized that Sunny had taken the professor up to Devil's Ridge. To authenticate Jonathon's find. This was the Sunny he knew—the deeply caring Sunny. An emotion flashed through him, warm and troublesome, but like a shooting star, it faded quickly before he could see it clearly.