She licked her lips and swallowed twice as if buying time before she broke the bad news.
He kissed her before she could speak. Her lips parted, allowing him to deepen the kiss. She felt so small yet substantial in his arms. “I want to explore every inch of you, with my tongue, my touch, my eyes.”
She pressed on his shoulders to ease back. “Um…no…sorry. That’s not going to happen.”
“Why not?”
He could read her panic so he let go. Maybe she didn’t like the claustrophobic atmosphere of the stuffy tent that undoubtedly smelled like sex and guy.
“Can we talk outside?”
“Of course.” He unzipped the flap and followed her out after shrugging on his MooU hoodie—a thrift store score – and a pair of Uggs. “A bottle of water? Wine?”
“Water. Thanks.” Then she pulled her phone out of her hip pocket and checked the time presumably because she added, “And wine, too.”
He had a bottle he’d been saving for something special. Getting a blowjob in the middle of the afternoon definitely qualified.
Since his phone already was plugged into the small portable speakers, he hit play. He’d been working on Mia’s playlist before he decided a dip in the river was the only way he was going to get his horny mind off her hot body. Once the music started, he grabbed the only two glasses he owned. The screw-top lid made opening the wine a breeze. He poured a generous measure into the stemmed wine glass he normally used and gave it to her. He filled the juice glass he’d accidentally stolen from the Main Street Diner all the way to the top.
“Salud.”
“Cheers.”
They drank in silence then looked at each other. He couldn’t say which of them laughed first, but within seconds they both were gasping for air and had tears in their eyes. “What do you say after…?” he asked.
“I’m sure there’s a polite protocol somewhere. I might say thank you and you’d reply, ‘My pleasure.’ And we’d start laughing again. So…can we not talk about it?”
He shook his head. “No. We didn’t talk about the kiss. If we don’t talk about this, who knows where we’ll end up?”
She set her glass on the table and made a time-out motion. “I meant what I said in the tent. We’re not having sex. I’m not getting naked any time soon…or ever for that matter.”
“Ever?”
“Ever. Never. Take your pick.”
He took a big gulp of the excellent cabernet. At fifty bucks a bottle, he figured that one gulp was about five dollars and change. “Why? You like me. I like you. A lot. We’re single. I’ve had all my shots and then some. I could produce a medical clearance if that would help, or I could put my hands on protection in about seven seconds.”
Her smile turned sweet and a little sad. “I do like you. And I can’t tell you how turned on I was just now. Really. I’ve never done that outside of marriage and even then…it wasn’t the same.”
“So, something happened that turned you off sex?”
“No. I’ve always enjoyed sex. Something happened that would turn off any partner of mine who wanted to have sex with me.”
He took another drink. “I don’t understand.”
She handed him her glass then patted her chest with the palms of her hand. She didn’t cup her breasts or do anything suggestive, rather she pressed flat. “I had a double mastectomy. My cancer was Stage 1 and everyone begged me to do a less invasive, less radical treatment, but when my genetic testing came back positive for the BRCA-1 mutation, I decided not to mess around and hope for the best.”
He didn’t know half of what she was talking about, but he knew what ‘mastectomy’ meant. He looked at her womanly shape but didn’t ask the question on the tip of his tongue. But you have breasts, don’t you?
She took back her glass and swallowed a gulp about the same size as Ryker had a minute earlier.
“I’m a single mom, Ryker. I can’t afford to risk my children winding up in their father’s care. It’s not that he doesn’t love them, he does. But he loves himself, his lifestyle, his young wife and their new baby more. I won’t do that to Emilee and Hunter.”
“So, you took the bullet.”
“Yes. And after a great deal of pleading from my mother and my doctor, I agreed to do reconstructive surgery so I’d feel more womanlike, but these…” She looked down, her expression flat and lifeless. “…aren’t me. They aren’t pretty and I don’t feel more womanlike.”
“How do you feel?”
“Mutilated. Ugly.”
The words stabbed him in the heart. He’d seen atrocities that defined ugly, and nothing Mia showed him could compare. But words, he knew, would never be enough to change her mind. That would require something more elaborate and tangible.
He set his glass beside hers and wrapped her in his arms. “I don’t suppose you’d be able to help me move, would you? Somehow, I’ve accumulated more stuff than I can carry on my bike.”
She looked up, obviously confused by his change of topic. “Um…sure. When? I need to pop into the high school to talk to Serena a minute. I want to make sure she calls me if Emilee skips her textile class.” The way her top teeth worried her bottom lip told him Emilee wasn’t the only weighty dilemma Mia needed to get off her chest.
He released her and pivoted to grab one of the boxes Louise had dropped off for him. “Any time. You tell me. I’ll start packing.” The sooner he was out of this tent and into a real bed, the sooner he could begin his campaign to make Mia love her body again. He had a plan. He’d worked with some of the most beautiful self-loathing models in the world. If he could make them see their inner beauty, he could help Mia, too. “We should be able to do this in one trip.”
“Okay. I’ll come back after I talk to Serena.” He could see her analytical, lawyer mind weighing every angle, looking for a trap.
His plan wasn’t perilous, merely creative. Nothing would happen today. The sort of campaign he had in mind would take time to build trust. And in addition to four walls and privacy, he’d also need the tools of his trade that he’d left in storage in Pittsburgh. That would mean contacting his mother. The expensive wine curdled in his stomach. For Mia, he’d break radio silence. Hell, for Mia, he’d even bargain with the devil.
Same difference.
Once Mia was gone, Ryker made two quick calls. The first was easy. The second? Less so. That call demanded a sacrifice. His pride. He’d been waiting since the first of the year for a call from his mother. Surely, if a mother loved her son even a tiny bit, she would call to check on him, right? She hadn’t.
Calling to ask for a favor isn’t the same as caving in, he told himself. Screw social. Just hello, here’s what I need, goodbye. That’s all this call is about.
He punched in the number.
“Hello?”
His mouth went dry. Her voice never changed.
“Hey, Mom, it’s me. Ryker.”
“Well, this is a surprise.”
“I suppose it is. I need a favor.”
“Which, of course, is not a surprise.”
“Really? Because I call you so often and ask you for so much?” He fought to keep his anger under control. “You can’t say that, Mom. We haven’t spoken in over a year.”
“I meant, you boys never call unless you want something from me. I never hear, ‘Hello, Mother, how are you? What’s new in your life? How’s the family?’”
He wanted to give a shit. He wished he did, but he’d been caught in that trap before. “The last time I asked about your family, I wound up paying for Benny’s braces.”
She didn’t reply for so long he thought she might have hung up—her usual MO when she was pissed off. “What do you want this time, son?”
Son? Really? He hadn’t felt like her child for so long, he couldn’t remember what being her son was supposed to feel like. “I’m in Montana and I have a new job that requires studio work.” A lie. “I left all my equipment with Big Al’s Storage and Freight on Cliff and Indiana. He was a
client of Dad’s. Remember?”
“Of course, I remember. What about it?”
“I just got off the phone with him. He’ll ship the boxes in my unit, but even if I overnight him the key, he said it’s against policy to open a container without the owner—or the owner’s representative—present. So, I need to send you the key and have you unlock the door. Big Al will do the rest.”
“How will he know which boxes you want?”
“There are four. All shipped from France. You can’t mistake them.”
France. You remember, Mother. The place I lived with the woman I loved. The woman who died with your grandchild in her belly.
“I suppose I can do that. When are you sending the key?”
“You should have it tomorrow or the next day at the latest.”
“Sounds pretty important. Does that mean you’re done being a bum?”
How would you know I was being a bum? Howard, he supposed. Or maybe Flynn, who was more forgiving than Ryker.
“I have to go, Mom. Light’s wasting.”
He waited to see if she’d ask anything else, but she didn’t. “Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll put your key in an envelope and tape it to a box.”
“Great. Thanks for your help.”
He barely got the word out before she hung up.
So Elizabeth Bensen Margolis.
With a heavy sigh, he pocketed his phone and started deconstructing his summer home. He’d enjoyed the respite the tent had provided. Some might call this lifestyle being a bum, but Ryker knew his summer hiatus had helped him heal from his loss while providing a link to his memories of his father.
But summer was over and it was time to reconnect with society…starting with Mia Zabrinski.
Chapter 7
‡
Mia parked a block away from Marietta High, hopefully out of view of either Hunter or Emilee. Luckily, Serena’s classroom—or cloakroom, as she called it—was near the gym. She knew visitors were supposed to sign in, but whoever was manning the front desk wasn’t present when Mia walked by so she just kept walking. Except for a kid or two wandering between a classroom and the toilet, she didn’t see anyone. No teachers.
Great, she thought. If I’m fast, I can pop in and out without getting drawn into any sort of conversation or drama.
Drama? Would casual sex with a relative stranger qualify?
So much for her theory that chemo killed her libido. She didn’t know exactly why she entered that tent or why she initiated the whole encounter, except she’d wanted to feel again. Something! Anything! She’d wanted to remember how it felt when your blood raced through your veins with purpose and desire. She needed to connect with something—someone—who had nothing to do with her life before or during cancer.
Why Ryker? Maybe her years of working with cops and lawyers and liars made it easier to know who to trust. She’d bet anything Ryker Bensen wouldn’t be that guy bragging and strutting his stuff tonight at the Wolf Den. He wasn’t part of Marietta, which made him damn close to perfect.
And it didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous and seemed to possess some kind of power that flipped her “loose-girl” switch. Not once while she was married had she fantasized about having sex with other men. But, damn. Give her a hot, young photographer in a tent and suddenly she was a easy.
She rapped once on the door and hurried inside without waiting for an answer.
Serena looked up from her iPad.
“Mia.” Her smile turned serious. “What’s going on? You look upset.”
Mia closed the door and checked out the tiny space to be sure they were alone. “I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind. Or having a panic attack. Take your pick.”
Serena jumped to her feet and rushed to her side. “You’re flushed and breathless.” She laid the back of her hand against Mia’s cheek. “No fever. Sit down and tell me what’s going on.”
Once they were seated across from each other at two student desks, Mia’s panic started to recede, but that didn’t mean she was ready to blurt out the truth—especially when she honestly couldn’t explain what got into her. Or didn’t, a part of her added.
She bit down on a naughty smile that started to form on her lips.
God knew she would have liked to have made love with Ryker. Full on, naked, crazy sex. But that was even scarier than a quick, one-sided hook-up. Sex was messy, no way around it.
Serena glanced at the clock above her desk. “Class change is in six minutes. Can you tell me what’s going on in that time or should we meet after school? If you come to the ranch, you can have some alpaca therapy. One hug from a big fuzzy helps cure what ails you.”
Mia shook her head. “I’ll pass. Thank you. I can’t see Austen right now.”
“I meant the alpacas. Austen’s big, but not very cuddly—unless you catch him in the right mood. Besides, he’s in Helena, remember?”
The joke made Mia smile but also provided a valuable reality check. Meg might advocate having a little fling with a handsome young loner, but the rest of her family would not be so open minded. Austen could be a terrible bore when he thought someone was taking advantage of a family member. He’d been a complete pain in Bailey’s behind until the day Paul ordered him to back off because he and Bailey were getting married. If Austen perceived Ryker as a threat to Mia, the scene would not be pretty. Mia couldn’t burden her new friend with the kind of secret that might cause problems between her and Austen.
“Being a single mom is a lot harder than I thought it would be,” Mia said. A different kind of confession from the one she intended to share, but, true, nonetheless.
Serena’s head tilted to one side. “This is about Em?”
“I’m pretty sure she hates me. And I’m afraid the way I reacted to her skipping school might have pushed her further away and—God forbid—driven her into the wrong crowd.” All true—even if Emilee wasn’t the cause of Mia’s initial panic.
“Emilee’s a great kid, Mia. She’s still figuring things out in Marietta and you’re taking the brunt of that angst. But I have complete faith that you’re both going to be just fine. Give her a little more time and try not to take anything she says personally. I gave my mother all kinds of grief when I was fourteen—and poor Mom was my homeschool teacher. She never could catch a break.”
Serena offered a few more hints to ease relations with Emilee and shared the news that the boy Emilee ditched school with was no longer in the picture. “Thanks, Serena. It helps to know you care.”
“Any time. Hey, I was single for a long time before I met your brother. If you ever want some girl talk, I promise it won’t go any further. What Austen doesn’t need to know, won’t come from me.”
Mia’s heart sped up again. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask “Am I crazy to feel this way about a guy who’s all wrong for me?” when the bell sounded. “I’ve gotta run before Emilee sees me. I don’t want Em to think I’m going behind her back. But, I’m glad we talked. I feel better already.”
Mia meant it. She liked knowing one person in town wouldn’t judge her if she continued seeing Ryker Bensen, who, after this weekend would be living in a house, not a tent on her land.
As she hurried back to her car, she admitted to herself that she wasn’t ready to end things with him. Not yet. Maybe after they got a ruling on their land. Since she was fairly sure she’d be the victor in the tussle over the lot, Ryker would have no reason to stay.
Maybe Meg was right. Ryker might be the perfect crush. Who else did she know who could guarantee a brief, finite union?
They’d keep things superficial—sex only. But she hadn’t been kidding when she described her disconnect with her new boobs. If Ryker wanted to have sex with her, he’d figure out a way to deal with her sports bra, which she had no intention of removing. Ever.
If?
She dashed the last half block to her car, the blood singing in her ears. What if? Ryker Bensen was a man. There would be sex.
Chapter 8
‡
>
Ryker locked the back door of B. Dazzled, pocketed the key and retrieved his bike from the garage. The mornings were getting downright chilly. His thermal hoody made getting around on bike tolerable if he didn’t peddle too fast.
He clicked the plastic connector chinstrap of his helmet and pulled on his gloves. Today was his last day on the job. The past week had flown by in a blur. Bailey was a sweet—if distracted—landlord. She—or, maybe, her mother—provided a double bed, sheets, blankets and pillows, and a comfy recliner where he could work on the laptop Bailey was lending him. The second “spare” bedroom had been converted from a storage room to a photography studio. He’d been pleasantly surprised by how quickly his shipping containers arrived. Mom even included an extra box, which he had yet to open. Her note alluded to “things you probably should have.”
He didn’t trust her to know him well enough to have any idea what he “should” have. For now, he stashed it in the corner of one of his freight boxes. Out of sight and out of mind—just like he was to her.
As he had every morning that week, he paused a moment to look at the sky and smile. Somewhere nearby, Mia Zabrinski was waking up—or, knowing how she drove herself, she’d been up for hours. He’d given up trying to get her out of his head. He simply couldn’t not think of her. He’d tried. When the money from Flynn appeared in his bank account, he’d treated himself to a night at Grey’s Saloon where he’d flirted with several cute girls and played pool with one who gave him her number and said, “Call me. Let’s have some fun.”
Fun. The concept didn’t register on his scope of reference. His beautiful Colette would never have fun again, so why should he?
But Ryker knew life didn’t work that way. It was time to re-engage with the world—as he knew Colette would want him to do.
Which is why he planned to use some of his paycheck to take Mia on a date…if she’d agree to go out with him.
“Bring it on,” he said with a grin as he pushed his bike through the gate.
Montana Darling (Big Sky Mavericks Book 3) Page 10