Ryan's Rules

by Alison Kelly

  ‘You come down here a lot?’

  ‘When I can. I usually manage about every third weekend or so.’

  ‘Were you planning to bring me down here while I was in Sydney, or is my presence here only the result of what’s going on?’

  Ryan knew that he wouldn’t even have mentioned the house unless she’d brought it up, and he also knew that he wouldn’t have brought her here even if she’d asked. He wasn’t aware when or why he’d arrived at that subconscious decision, but he was beginning to suspect that on some level at least he must have known the impact she’d have on the house and, consequently, him.

  ‘I never thought of bringing you here until we were on our way back from Sydney. Why?’

  ‘Oh, no reason.’

  He thought he saw a hint of hurt in her eyes, but she turned away before he could be sure.

  ‘What’s through here?’

  ‘Laundry,’ he said, wondering if the strain of keeping his distance showed in his voice.

  ‘Can I look?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  The flat refusal had her spinning to look at him. ‘Why not? You said you’d show me around.’

  ‘And you claimed you were too tired; a few minutes ago all you wanted to do was crawl into bed.’

  ‘I guess the coffee helped.’

  ‘Remarkably, since you haven’t even tasted it.’ Picking up the cup she’d left sitting on the table, he brought it to her.

  Her gaze skittered guiltily from his. ‘Er…thanks,’ she managed, her fingers trembling from the innocuous contact with his. She raised the cup to her lips in the hope that caffeine would dull her reaction to his nearness. She took a mouthful of the liquid, but under Ryan’s intense gaze almost choked trying to swallow it. His face contorted in instant concern and his hand closed around her wrist to prevent her making things worse with a too hurried second gulp.

  ‘I…I’m OK,’ she lied, her heart pounding as if trying to break out of her chest.

  His brows pulled together and his blue eyes became assessing as they moved over her face. Unable to look away, she lifted her free hand and pushed her hair behind her shoulders, not from necessity but because she needed to convince herself that her paralysis was only mental. Yet when Ryan’s fingers repeated the action the heat which coursed from her scalp to her toes must surely have done some really serious damage to her spinal cord.

  ‘So,’ he said, his jaw tight, as if he was struggling to keep his temper in check, ‘I gather that you’ve now changed your mind and want a guided tour rather than to go to bed?’

  Kirrily bit her tongue hard to stop the wanton response that rose in her mind and simply nodded. A muscle jerked at the side of his mouth, and as he moved to the other end of the kitchen with an angry rigidity she was fairly certain she’d heard him say, ‘Pity!’ She was about to tell him where he could take his moodiness when he pushed open a swing-door and, looking the picture of patience, indicated that she should follow.

  ‘C’mon,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Bring your coffee with you.’

  Kirrily told herself it was curiosity not the hundredmegawatt smile he produced which made her comply.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CONSCIOUS of being watched as she mopped the last of the Bolognese sauce from her plate with the last of the garlic bread, and unable to ignore it any longer, Kirrily lifted her gaze to meet Ryan’s amused one. His own plate empty, he lounged lazily in the corner of the booth they shared in the small but atmospheric restaurant he’d suggested for dinner.

  ‘That’s one of the things I like about you, K.C.,’ he drawled. ‘You’re never shy around food.’

  ‘Especially not Italian,’ she said, resisting the urge to ask what he considered her other likeable traits to be. ‘This place is good—equal to anywhere I’ve ever eaten on Lygon Street. Do you eat here a lot when you come down?’

  ‘Not really. I only come down to work on the house, and usually I’m so bushed at the end of a day that getting dressed up to go out and eat on my own is too much hard work.’ He grinned. ‘Even for great Italian, although I’m sure you’d argue with me.’

  Kirrily shook her head, dabbing her mouth with her napkin before speaking. ‘Nope. I know exactly what you mean. Some days after being on the set from six in the morning until six at night I’m too exhausted to even fix myself a sandwich.’ She sighed. ‘But what I really hate after a hard day is having to dress up and be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at some network function or fund-raiser that lasts until midnight Especially—’ she grimaced ‘—when I’m due in Make-up at five the next morning.’

  ‘That happen often? The extra-curricular activities, I mean.’

  ‘Too often. But then it goes with the territory, same as having your weekends consumed by shopping-centre promotions and the like.’

  ‘Still, you must get paid pretty well for the extra hours.’

  Kirrily’s derisive laugh wasn’t forced. ‘Don’t I wish! Unfortunately lowly little soap actors like me get a set wage, and all those extra commitments promoting the series are in my contract.’

  Ryan watched silently as Kirrily bestowed one of her best smiles on the teenage waiter who brought their coffee. He noted the uncertain frown that gathered on the kid’s brow as he, no doubt, tried to decide if K.C. really was who he thought she was. Ryan imagined the kitchen abuzz with, ‘I’m sure that’s the actress from that TV show…Nah! Couldn’t be…’ ‘Let me serve ‘em this time and I’ll tell you…’

  So far four different people had attended to them since they’d walked in forty-five minutes ago. It was getting to be more irritating than amusing.

  ‘You realise you’re the cause of a lot of speculation?’ he asked, when the waiter couldn’t legitimately delay at their table any longer and left.

  She groaned. ‘That, too, goes with the territory. Be grateful my character has been off the screen for a while or it might’ve been worse.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Autographs,’ she whispered, looking about them furtively. ‘Once in a restaurant a co-star and I had to sign about thirty. Our dates weren’t impressed.’

  ‘I don’t blame them. They probably thought your private time was exclusively theirs.’

  ‘Ha! My private time is rarely mine.’

  ‘I have to admit I was ignorant of the extent of the demands on an actor’s time,’ he said.

  An ironic smile nudged her mouth. ‘It’s kept secret to preserve the glamorous image of acting for the general public.’

  ‘But the reality is it’s more grit than glamour, huh?’

  ‘A lot more.’

  ‘Not to mention downright dangerous when you fall prey to a nutcase.’

  Ryan’s tone was coldly flat, but it was more than that which caused Kirrily to shiver. Her involuntary reaction pulled a muttered curse from the man opposite.

  ‘K.C., have you thought about what you’re going to do if they don’t catch this guy?’

  The fear that stiffened her face was a physical pain in Ryan’s chest even after she’d camouflaged it behind bravado.

  ‘They’ll catch him,’ she said.

  ‘But what if they don’t?’ he persisted, playing the devil’s advocate. ‘Are you going to continue in a job that keeps you in the public eye? That potentially puts you at risk to not just this lunatic but every cretin who develops an obsession about your sexy little body and beautiful face.’

  Her failure to respond made him want to shake her. ‘Answer me, damn it!’ he insisted. ‘Are you?’

  ‘I…I…I don’t know. I mean, I like acting; I—’

  ‘A moment ago you were complaining about long hours and lousy pay.’

  ‘Well, yes…but…there are other factors.’

  Ryan thought she sounded less than convinced. ‘Such as?’

  ‘It’s interesting. Even after nearly two years it doesn’t bore me the way all those other jobs I’ve had did. Before I got the role in Hot Heaven the longest I’d stayed in one job was two months.’
Her chin lifted a notch. ‘Acting’s given me control of my life—’

  ‘Rubbish.’

  ‘Wh—?’

  ‘That’s rubbish and you know it!’ he said, edging forward and leaning across the table. ‘Moving to Melbourne was what gave you control of your life. Or at least what you perceived to be control. You took the role in Hot Heaven on impulse because it came at a time when you wanted to leave home but didn’t want to hurt your folks by saying so. Hot Heaven gave you a legitimate reason for not just moving out but moving to a whole different state.’ Even seeing the anger growing on her face wasn’t enough to stop Ryan. ‘Hell, I’ll bet you never once considered becoming an actor until that male model who was panting after you conned you into going to that audition with him!’

  ‘That’s not true!’ she denied, half rising to her feet.

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘No!’

  There were mere inches between their noses, but Ryan couldn’t have said how long they traded furious stares with each other, because at some point his anger got lost in the heady, exotic scent of her perfume and the emerald depths of her dark-lashed eyes.

  The flickering glow of the candle highlighted her beautifully sculptured face, aiding and abetting the escape of memories he needed to imprison—memories of how she’d turned her soft cheek into his large, rough hand and rubbed against it, how her perfectly shaped lips had brushed, pressed and finally opened beneath his and how she’d all but purred with pleasure when his need to taste more of her had driven his mouth to explore lower. But mere memories couldn’t distract him from the here and now, and his heart lurched in his chest at the radiant smile she offered him.

  ‘For your information, Ryan, I went to that audition out of curiosity. I’ve never been conned into anything in my life.’

  ‘Really?’ The hint of smugness in her tone made him add, ‘So how do you explain ending up in Rich Nichols’ car all those years ago?’

  ‘My vulnerability to a blond-haired, blue-eyed guy I had a serious crush on.’

  ‘Nichols has black hair.’

  ‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘And I’ve no idea what colour his eyes are.’

  ‘What about the male model?’ he asked, knowing he shouldn’t, despising the way his voice scratched.

  She met his gaze for an endlessly long second. ‘What male model?’

  There was nothing scratchy about her voice; it curled around him like soft, spiralling smoke and set off alarms in his brain. Retreating into his seat as if burnt, although, given the temperature of his body, spontaneous selfcombustion was probably more likely, Ryan signalled for the bill. He had to get out of there. Now.

  Kirrily again tossed irritably onto her stomach and punched the pillow. Not that the pillow was the problem.

  It was past two a.m. and here she was, wide awake on the sofa bed from hell, while Ryan ‘wouldn’t kiss her on a bet’ Talbot was doubtlessly sleeping peacefully on the huge, king-size bed in the master bedroom. That there was a long, long hallway with four unfurnished bedrooms between them really irritated her! Surely it should have occurred to him to buy at least one decent bed to cater for guests? Of course, she was hardly a guest—more like a refugee to whom Ryan felt obligated to offer asylum; too bad his bed wasn’t included in the deal!

  Bad thought, Kirrily! Not, her brain told her, conducive to restful sleep.

  ‘Yeah, right, kiddo,’ she grumbled aloud. ‘Like you really believe this dumb sofa is what’s keeping you awake.’

  With a heavy sigh, she swung her bare feet to the ground, grateful for the underfloor heating system Ryan had incorporated into the house’s design. Aided only by moonlight, she located her robe and, slipping it on, went to the window. She tried to use the rural silence and star-studded sky to calm her, but her mind was too preoccupied.

  She’d thought he was going to kiss her. No, she’d been certain he was going to kiss her. Heck, she’d practically begged him to kiss her! But instead he’d whisked them out of the restaurant as if all the devils and flames of hell were on his heels.

  They’d arrived home twelve and a half silent minutes later, when he’d tossed a pillow and a set of clean sheets onto the sofa in the den and issued her a curt goodnight.

  With hindsight Kirrily realised he’d been keeping his temper on a tight leash, and there were no prizes for guessing why. He’d obviously concluded that her behaviour in the restaurant had been another cleverly thought out attempt at seduction. Well, he was wrong! It was clumsy, unintentional, and Kirrily hated herself for the way her body went into overdrive while her brain ceased all function around Ryan. Why did love have to be so damn humiliating? And why, curse it, did she have to fall for Ryan?

  Groaning with frustration, she searched for a way of distracting her preoccupied mind. Usually when she couldn’t sleep she sought refuge in hot chocolate and late-night movies to relax her, but as Ryan hated chocolate and the only TV was a small portable in his room those options weren’t available to her. Nor did she have a book to read or a script to learn. Desperate for activity, she headed to the door.

  The hallway was eerily quiet, but showered in moonlight, courtesy of a floor-to-ceiling window outside the den and the skylight at the other end of the passage. Without bothering to switch on a light, Kirrily padded barefoot down its length, and at the sight of Ryan’s closed bedroom door the breath she’d been holding escaped in a relieved rush. Mentally picturing him nude and spread-eagled across his mattress was one thing, but she was in no shape to deal with the reality of it. When her hand closed over the brass handle of the bathroom door, the slight click as it opened was so quiet that she felt it rather than heard it.

  ‘Kirrily?’

  Her heart leapt at the whisper of her name. Ryan.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked softly.

  It took the length of several rapid, erratic heartbeats that had nothing to do with fear for her to nod, a few more to brace herself enough to turn and face him. He stood in his now open doorway, his features a haunting combination of shadows and highlights in the soft lunar glow, his bare chest, with its smattering of golden hair, a fascinating temptation of perfect planes and muscular mounds. Her heart seemed wedged in her throat, but its throbbing rhythm echoed in a lower region of her female anatomy.

  ‘I…I’m…f-f-fine.’ The words sounded unconvincing even to her, and though she couldn’t see his eyes his statue-silent stance made her doubt he’d bought them either.

  ‘Honest,’ she reinforced. ‘I just couldn’t sleep. I think it’s the quiet. I’m used to falling off to the sound of traffic and emergency sirens and…and things. I…thought a hot shower might help…sort of settle my restlessness…’ Her babbling died out of her own brain’s lack of interest, but when after long moments Ryan continued neither to move nor speak the smothering blanket of silence again propelled her to speech.

  ‘I’m sorry if I woke you; I—’

  ‘You didn’t.’ His voice was rough. ‘I haven’t been able to sleep either.’

  ‘Oh…’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said drily. ‘Oh.’

  There was a wealth of irony and frustration behind his words and Kirrily was alert to every bit of it.

  ‘Do you really think a hot shower will work, K.C.?’ If it does, she thought, it’ll be the biggest miracle performed with water since the parting of the Red Sea.

  She shrugged. ‘Well…it can’t hurt any.’

  ‘I suppose it’s worth a thought,’ he conceded. “Cos cold ones don’t help one damn bit. I should know; I’ve had three since we got home tonight.’

  The obvious implication left her struggling for an intelligent response.

  ‘Three long, cold showers,’ he repeated, as if talking to himself. ‘And I’m still on fire. I want you so bad I’m aching with it.’

  His name left her lips, in a croaked whisper barely audible to her above the hammering of her heart and the mêlée of her hormones. Weak-kneed, she sagged against the wall, hoping it would keep her upr
ight as the blood swirled through her body at the speed of light and her lungs could only manage shallow sucks of air. Yet despite the sensation of not being able to breathe she didn’t pretend that her gasp at Ryan’s four-letter expletive was a reaction to anything but the sexual connotation it evoked.

  ‘There’s got to be at least a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t take you in my arms right this minute.’ Though he hadn’t moved, his groaned words and the semi-darkness seemed to reduce the four feet of space between them to mere millimetres, charging the atmosphere with a claustrophobic sensuality. ‘Tell me the reasons, K.C.,’ he urged. ‘Remind me why I should step back into my room and lock the door when what I want to do is grab you and make love to you until neither of us can stand up.’

  Clenching her fists, Kirrily tried to fight against the tempest of emotion swamping her. Damn you, she wanted to scream. I ache too! Too much to be your conscience! But anger and frustration were like hands around her throat, wringing hot, silent tears from her eyes, making words impossible; braced against the wall, all she managed were two slow shakes of her head.

  In a heartbeat he was in front of her, lifting her chin with fingers that trembled, until her eyes connected with his.

  ‘Ah, honey, don’t,’ he pleaded, cupping her head in his hands with infinite gentleness. ‘Please don’t cry…Dear God, I’d rather your anger than your tears.’

  The tenderness with which his lips touched her lashes was in stark contrast to the desperation in his words

  ‘Don’t cry, angel…I’m sorry…I’d die before…before I’d make…you cry.’

  To Kirrily the disjointed but caring endearments muttered between gentle kisses felt like salvation. And as his mouth continued to travel her face, absorbing her salty tears, anger and frustration gave way to a hope that started in her heart and was pumped to every fibre of her body; instinct demanded she follow her heart…

  Surprise arrested Ryan’s movements when a deliciously sweet mouth brushed his own, but just one slow stroke of that same tongue across his lower lip was enough to reactivate him. With a sigh of gratitude his hand caught the back of her neck and, angling her head to his best advantage, he sought the deeper pleasures of her mouth.