“That’s not my room.”
“No,” he admitted, then found a condom in her bedside drawer—his brand, that he’d left behind when he’d thought he could leave her behind, too. “It’s mine, at my house in L.A.”
He wanted her there.
Before she could formulate a response, he was between her thighs. His fingers found her ready, so ready and soft, and his cock slid inside. She lifted into the thrust, her body offering no obstruction to his.
A dozen Charlies raced across the screen of his mind: in her pressed postal clerk uniform, in a sundress and hiking boots, eating ice cream, admiring fireworks, frowning over her homework, smiling at him when he called her Sal.
He looked down at this version of Charlie in his arms, the halo of hair, the mouth swollen from his kisses, those blue eyes that had remained dry-eyed the day he left her.
And Linus knew he couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t let her get away.
I’m in love with her, he thought. Full stop. Without any kind of limits or boundaries whatsoever.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
RYAN WALKED THE path from the pool to the house, aware his morning swim hadn’t put Poppy from his mind...again. For the second day in a row he was stewing over her, this time because he’d failed the night before in finding out what was bothering her.
She’d spilled nothing about the mysterious phone call that he felt certain had put her off her game and into her baker’s apron. Though he’d cornered her after dinner, she’d used the kid as a shield and ultimately as an excuse to escape upstairs.
Sure, Ryan could have tried once more after she’d tucked in the boy. He might have cajoled her downstairs via intercom or dragged her out of her room by the ankles, but he’d been aware she was on guard. He was going to have to catch her unawares to wring the truth out of her, but he’d find a way to do it. For whatever reason, he was determined to learn what was going on inside her head.
As he approached the terrace doors, a sound from the front of the house made him cock his head. A vehicle—big, by the sound of it—was trundling along the drive. He let himself inside and made tracks for the front of the house. If the paps had dared to trespass, he was going to contact the police and press charges.
At the front door, he met Poppy. “Um,” she said. “There are visitors.”
“I’ll take care of them.” He pulled his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. “They’ll be under arrest in minutes.”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said. “I don’t have the money to post bail.”
He stared at her. “Who—?”
“My brother and sisters.” She gestured toward the entrance.
He opened one of the double doors a few inches to see a heavy-duty work truck with an extended cab and a bed bristling with landscaping tools slow to a halt in the courtyard. A small sedan, with Maids by Mac written on its side, braked nearby.
Then Ryan’s foyer was full of Walkers.
He stood back as Mason and Grimm rushed down the stairs to join them. The boy was given attention first, his uncle and aunts asking questions about his Disney trip. When he scurried off to retrieve Mickey for show-and-tell, the Walkers took stock of their cloistered sibling.
And Ryan took stock of them. Mackenzie, the oldest sister, was taller than Poppy, her face shaped the same but with coffee-dark hair and irises a pale blue. She gave her sister a hug even as her gaze slid to Ryan. Her suspicious expression reminded him of early Poppy, when she’d been as cool to him as the winter air.
Shay stepped up next. She was slender like her sisters, but with chin-length auburn hair and Mackenzie’s eyes in a model-elegant face. Her hug for Poppy was warm and she took another moment to study her older sister as she stepped back. “Okay?” she asked, a line digging between her brows.
So Ryan wasn’t the only one thinking there was something to be concerned about.
Poppy waved away the question. “I’m fine.”
Then her brother moved in. A short scrub of light brown hair topped his tanned and weathered face. He had gray eyes like his sister’s, narrowed now. A wicked scar cut from his brow in a dramatic diagonal over his forehead to disappear into his hairline. Another slashed across the bridge of his nose. On a sigh, Brett pulled Poppy in, then pretended to pound the top of her head with his fist as she slapped at him. “Screwup. Why are you always causing trouble?”
Ryan’s hackles rose in her defense. “Hey,” he began.
As one, the Walker tribe turned on him.
Shit. Still, he stepped forward, looking each of Poppy’s siblings square in the eye. “None of this is her fault.”
“Oh, right,” Brett said. “For a moment I forgot that sloppy kiss you landed on her for the cameras.”
“It wasn’t intentionally for the cameras,” Poppy protested, as one of her blushes crawled over her face. “And it was just a thank-you,” she mumbled, inspecting something on the floor at her feet. “For my cookies.”
“For your cookies.” Brett Walker looked from his red-cheeked sister to Ryan. “Really. For her cookies?”
Ignoring the sarcasm, Ryan strolled to Mackenzie and held out his hand. “Mac, right? I’m Ryan Hamilton.”
She traded a brisk shake then made a face at Shay as he reached toward her with an outstretched palm. “It’s not right. A guy who looks that good on screen should be butt-ugly in person.”
Ignoring Mac, the auburn-haired sister shook his hand. “I’m Shay.”
That left Ryan facing the big brother. “Look,” he said. “I’m sorry about the trouble we found ourselves in, but—”
“Yeah,” Brett said, gripping Ryan’s hand. The squeeze wasn’t a strangle, but close. “It’s probably not all on you. First there’s the knucklehead over there. And we’re aware that those cabins and the land they’re on bring nothing but trouble.”
Poppy released a small sound of distress. “Brett—”
“Admit it. That place has always been a problem. You should just leave it be. Let those cabins go to rot.”
“Not going to do that,” she said, her squared shoulders in opposition with the clear dismay on her face.
For the second time, a protective urge rose inside Ryan. Was her worry over the cabins’ future the cause of her disquiet? Maybe he could do something about that, he thought, and shifted his attention to her poker-faced big brother. “When was the last time you were out there?”
He shrugged. “Who cares?”
“You should go see the land. Check out the cabins,” Ryan said, moving his gaze to include Mackenzie and Shay.
“Shay and I have seen them,” Mackenzie replied, dismissing the topic with a wave of her hand. “We’re not here about the resort. With Brett back in town, we decided to stop by and make sure Poppy and Mason are all right. They’ve been here, what? About a week?”
Poppy frowned, and ignored the question directed at Ryan to ask one of her own. “You thought he might have boiled us for supper? Look, I can take care of myself.”
Ryan crossed his arms over his chest, determined not to let the subject go. Pinning his gaze on the other man, he sent out a challenge. “I’m serious,” he said to Brett, “you should give the place a look.”
Brett’s brows rose. A tense moment passed, then he seemed to make a decision. “Fine, then,” he said with a nod. “We’ll go right now.”
“Now?” Poppy worried the hem of her sweater. “Now now? You know the storm did some damage—”
“Only more reason to look things over.” He turned toward the door, then glanced back at Poppy and Ryan. “You coming?”
Poppy’s eyes rounded. “Leave the house?”
“We pass through that press gauntlet by the gates,” Ryan warned, “we’ll only feed their prurience.”
Brett shrugged. “You’re ri
ght. They’re crawling all over town, asking nosy questions and staking out popular corners in hopes you drive by.”
In hopes they’d catch him flaming out again, Ryan thought. “So—”
“So, don’t you know how to duck?”
That’s what they ended up doing. After deciding to leave Mason at home with Linus—Poppy didn’t want her son to worry over the post-storm condition of their cabin—Brett swung his truck around so they could make the dash from the front door without being spied by the paps. In the backseat, they slumped against the cushions. When they neared the gates, Brett cautioned “Lower,” and Ryan pulled Poppy over his lap and bent over her.
Her hair tickled his nose and he breathed in its delicious scent, its sweetness now familiar. She took her own breath, her fragile shoulder blades lifting into the cage of his body. So damn delicate, he thought, and was compelled to curl tighter around her, giving in to a tender urge that he thought had died with Tate. Not good, he decided instantly, and tried sweeping it away by recalling his knowledge of other parts of her body: the subtle curve of her breasts, the tight bud of her nipple against his lips, the sleek heat between her thighs. But that only served to start working him up and, Christ, he couldn’t afford to get in that kind of condition with her lean and mean big brother only inches away.
“Fuckers,” Brett muttered as his speed slowed to a snail’s crawl. “Your mug can’t possibly be worth this stakeout.”
“Photos of A-list weddings and celebrity babies can bring in a million or more,” Ryan said, pitching his voice low. “Picture of a famous figure during a time of personal turmoil...high six figures. Add a new romantic interest, add a zero.”
The other man cursed under his breath, then it was pedal to the metal as, Ryan presumed, they made it past the gathering at the gates. Glancing up, he saw Brett check his rearview mirror. “Shay and Mac are clear, too.”
Poppy’s brother turned a sharp corner then blew out an audible breath. “All right, people. The captain has turned off the Fasten Seat Belts sign. You’re free to move about the cabin.”
Ryan wasn’t so certain. Though he unbent from his current position and so did Poppy, he put his hand on her arm to prevent her from sitting straight on the cushions. “Keep your head below the window level.”
“Fine,” she said, but he could feel the tension in her, her muscles stiff beneath his palm.
“Why are you so keyed up?” he said, beneath the cover of the country music blaring from the radio her brother flipped on.
“I’m mentally refining my sales pitch.”
“Give me a chance to help,” he offered.
Her head turned toward him, her eyebrows rose. “Why do you care?”
He opened his mouth to answer...and then found he had no answer other than that unwelcome protective sense looming again. Scowling, he brooded over it until they chugged up the hill to the cabins. When Brett braked, he jumped out. Ryan opened his door, intending to follow, then glanced back at Poppy, still glued in place. On a sigh, he turned back to her, unable to resist her and her worried face.
“Come on,” he said, releasing her seat belt then pulling her out by the hand. “You’ll see, it’ll work out.”
Though clearly she knew her siblings better than he did. While Brett grudgingly remarked on Poppy’s painting efforts of the two refurbished cabins, Mackenzie didn’t hesitate to proclaim “What a mess,” while surveying the damaged mudroom roof.
The fallen limb was cleared, though; the wood chopped, split and stacked for future fireplace use. Ryan pushed his hands in his pockets and studied the surroundings. “I think you Walkers are seeing the place through the wrong lens. I spent over a week here and couldn’t get enough of the view. If there were skiing and snowboarding...” He tilted his head to take in the mountain that loomed over the cabins, the summit still covered with snow. “It could be a great little winter escape.”
“We don’t have exclusive rights to the mountain,” Brett said, and the four siblings looked at each other, then spit in the dirt, used the toes of their shoes to rub it into the ground and crossed their hearts.
Having seen the ritual before, Ryan didn’t flinch. “There’s no way around it?”
Brett shrugged. “Even if there was, there’s also the small question of—what is it again?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah, money.”
“You can find investors. Maybe someone like me—”
“God, no.” Though it was Mac who spoke, all four Walkers stared at him with identical horrified expressions.
“Flatlander money would only bring more bad luck to a place already cursed,” Brett said.
“That’s where our father went wrong,” Poppy continued. “Dad had big ideas for this place but no ready money to sink into it. So he sold an interest to Victor Fremont—” here she paused so they could do the whole spit and heart-cross thing again “—and after the fire took everything you-know-who wouldn’t invest any more cash.”
“And he says he won’t give us permission to redevelop the mountain even if we win the lottery and come up with the scratch ourselves,” Mac added, her face stony. “Dad gave him that power.”
“But we can fix up the cabins on our own,” Poppy said, then looked at her siblings. “I can fix them up. Just don’t actively oppose me, okay?”
Her earnestness made Ryan’s chest ache. To avoid it, he studied the clearing, the cabins ringing it, and remembered the more remote ones he’d run across on his hikes in the woods. Everything looked different now. The snow-covered landscape had been spectacular, but without the white stuff and without the rain, he could see the potential of other seasons. The sun-heated pine needles would smell pungent and clean. Moonlight would edge the foliage with a silver light.
“You have something special here,” he said, hardly aware he was talking aloud. “Think of summertime. Open windows. Quiet voices in the darkness.”
Brett groaned. “Not another one. You’ve been hanging around Poppy too much.”
She glared at her brother. “Come on, Brett. Can’t you keep an open mind?” Then she turned her gaze on her youngest sister. “What do you say, Shay? Will you give me the go-ahead to finish what I started?”
The woman shrugged. “Since I’m not an actual blood Walker, I go with the majority.”
“Shay,” the other siblings said together.
But though they were unanimous in their reproach of their sister, the jury stayed out on the resort property. Not one of the three gave Poppy the words she wanted to hear. After a few minutes, they all climbed back in their respective vehicles, with Mac muttering about getting an appraisal on the value of the part of the acreage they were legally able to sell and Brett sharing the observation that Poppy had always been the family’s crazy, cock-eyed optimist. Clearly he didn’t consider it high praise.
Frustrated, Ryan stared out the window as they returned to Blue Arrow Lake. He glanced over at Poppy, noting her preoccupied expression and the way she was once again worrying her sweater hem. “Maybe your brother and sisters will change their minds. Be more cooperative.”
Her big gray eyes turned his way, their expression puzzled. “What? Oh. Don’t mind them. I’ll figure something out.”
It was the offhand way she said it that made him realize the cabins weren’t the sole source of her tension. She’d mentally moved on to other trouble and damn, it bothered him that she wouldn’t open up about whatever that was.
He went back to staring out the window and began formulating plans to woo the truth from her. Maybe he’d get one of the boats in the water and take her onto the lake. The relaxation might do the trick. Or perhaps he’d build up a big fire and sweat the truth from her. She’d strip out of that sweater and then...
And then his mind went in the entirely wrong direction.
Yanking it back, his gaze finally took in what he’
d been staring at for miles of winding highway. “Whoa,” he said. Clusters of long-stemmed, vibrant yellow blooms marched along both sides of the road, their brightness a sudden shock to his system. “Daffodils.”
Poppy glanced over. “Pretty, right?” And then she smiled.
The power of that startled him, too. Its warmth slayed him. She slayed him. Impulse overcame him once more, and a deep need moved in his chest. He wanted to make things right for her. To make her happy.
In four years he’d never felt the need to do anything in fucking March but escape himself. So he might not know what was going on with Poppy, but what was going on with him was something entirely new.
And it bothered the hell out of him, because the man he’d been since his son’s death didn’t have the chops to do any good for anyone.
* * *
FROM YOU SEND ME, a screenplay by Linus Hamilton:
INT. POST OFFICE—DAY
CHARLIE’s at the counter, helping a customer. One person awaits service, and now two, as LINUS steps up to the back of the line. The patron in front of him is an old man clutching a handful of letters. He glances at LINUS.
OLD MAN
Are you lost?
On a sigh, LINUS shakes his head.
CHARLIE
Next.
LINUS’s attention wanders as he waits his turn.
CHARLIE
Next.
LINUS steps up to the counter.
CHARLIE
I thought you were already on your way back to L.A.
She’s struggling to maintain her stoicism.
LINUS
I need to mail this.
He tosses a picture postcard onto the counter. It’s a glossy photo of a mountain setting. Across the top it reads Mountain Greetings!
Take My Breath Away Page 20