He dropped the bag on the nearest table and grabbed her hand, those big, rough fingers wrapping tight around hers, sending excited shivers surging across her skin. “Let’s find someplace quiet.”
She didn’t say no. How could she?
He turned and led her through the crowd toward the stairs to the main floor. Ryan, behind the bar mixing up a row of pretty pink drinks, spotted him and called his name.
Walker gave him a wave and kept moving, across the upper floor and down the stairs, where it was just as packed as upstairs, but with the regular Saturday-night crowd. She followed, but hanging back a little, making him work for it after the way he’d treated her that morning.
“Where are we going?” she called to him as he pulled her along.
“This way,” he said, which told her nothing. He led her under an arch at the end of the bar and down a short hallway to a pair of swinging doors. He pushed through them into the kitchen.
“Walker, hey!” The cooks aimed a wave in his direction and went back to their work.
He pulled her through another door and they were in the storage rooms. He led her past metal shelves stacked with restaurant supplies and food to the door to Ryan’s office. It was locked.
“Stay right here,” he commanded. “I mean it, Rory. Don’t try to run away.” And he went back the way they’d come.
She leaned against the door and wondered why she’d let him drag her down here and if he would have to go all the way back upstairs and find Ryan to let them in. But then he reappeared just a minute or two after leaving her. He held up a key. Apparently, he knew where to find one downstairs. She straightened from the door and stood dangerously close to him, all too aware of the warmth of him and the clean scents of soap and aftershave that clung to his skin. He wore plain dark slacks, a black dress shirt and his best pair of tooled boots.
And, well, she ought to keep in mind how pissed off she was at him. But she couldn’t help it. Gladness filled her heart, just to be standing beside him.
He opened the door and gestured her in. Her pulse ratcheting higher again, she went in first.
The office was nothing fancy. Ryan had a wide oak desk, a couple of file cabinets, three chairs, a sofa and a sad-looking rubber plant near the lone window. Walker followed her in and closed the door behind him, locking them into the functional space.
She backed to the desk and faced off against him. “All right. It’s quiet. Talk.”
He didn’t. Not for several never-ending seconds during which he just stared at her. When he did speak, he said thickly, “Those shoes are just plain bad. And that skirt, that itty-bitty shirt that shines the same color as your eyes? Cruel, Rory. Heartless.”
A flush of pleasure warmed her cheeks. She scowled really hard so he wouldn’t know his flattery was getting to her. “Blame Clara. Her party, her dress code—and are you going to apologize to me for the way you acted this morning, or not?”
He looked down at his good boots. “You’re driving me out of my mind, okay?”
Triumph flared through her at the admission. She tamped it down. This was about more than her feminine ego. “So. You’re attracted to me now, and that’s somehow my fault?”
“I didn’t say that.”
She perched on the edge of the desk. “Well, yeah. You pretty much did.”
He flashed her a hot glance—and then stared at his boots some more. In the silence between them, the pounding beat of the music overhead seemed to grow louder.
And then at last, he spoke again. “I had it set in my mind, that’s all. That somehow I would get through the wedding without letting things get out of hand between us, that you would go home and I would...I don’t know, get over you and move on, I guess. All without getting in too deep, without getting hurt—or hurting you. And then you changed everything up without warning, calling your mother, talking her into letting you go off on your own.”
It didn’t really make sense to her. “But then, why wouldn’t you be happy to have me out of your house, out of the bed in the room across from yours? Why wouldn’t you be happy that I reduced the, er, temptation?”
His head shot up and he pinned her with a look. “You don’t get it.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“And now you’re going to expect me to explain,” he muttered in a weary tone.
“That is exactly what I expect.”
He slanted her a narrow-eyed look. “You’re getting that princess tone, you know that? Like you rule the world?”
That stung. “I don’t need this.” She straightened to go. “You’re blocking the door.”
He put up both hands. “Stay. Please.” He did seem contrite.
“Oh, Walker.” She ached inside. For both of them. “You’re going to need to tell me something that will make me want to stay.”
And he said, “It’s just not easy. I don’t know where to start.” She only watched him, waiting. And eventually, he did try again. “Once I started seeing you differently, once I started wanting you, having you with me all the time was torture...” He folded his arms across his chest then, in that defensive posture she’d been seeing so much of lately.
Cautiously, reminding herself not to get comfortable, she sat on the desk again. “So I’ll ask one more time, why not be glad, then, that I moved to the Haltersham?”
“Because I didn’t want you to go!” The words were hot with frustration. He took a moment—to rein himself in? Whatever. When he spoke again, his voice was gentler. “Because it was torture, but it was...good, too. Real good. You and me together, round the clock. Even at night alone in my bed, I knew you were there, right across the hall. I got to have you near me, see you smile, ride out with you in the mornings after we finished with the horses, sit across from you at dinner, watch a movie with you, just the two of us, side by side on the couch. Yeah, it was just about killing me, not to put my hands on you. But it was also my reward.” He uncrossed those big arms and lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Damn. Is that pitiful?”
“No,” she whispered, and she meant it.
He grunted. “Sounds pretty pitiful to me.”
She crossed her legs and rotated her ankle in her lacy, sparkly shoe, watched those blue eyes of his flare with heat as she did it. “You’re telling me that you didn’t want me to go, that you liked having me at the ranch, even though it was difficult for you, that just being with me, even with all the usual barriers in place, was enough for you?”
He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, as though seeking help from above. “That is exactly what I’m telling you.”
“But see, Walker, that’s just us being together in the way that we’ve always been. Just being friends, keeping a certain physical distance. But with this new excitement between us...”
He dragged in a slow breath. “What about it?”
“It’s not enough for me.”
His eyes were on her again, laser-focused. And then, gruffly, he admitted, “It’s not enough for me, either.”
She let out a groan. “So, then, what in the world are we arguing about?”
Obstinate as ever, he muttered, “If we took it further, it wouldn’t turn out well.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Wake up, Rory. You’re a princess. I’m no prince.”
She leveled her coldest look on him then. “Do not give me that. So my mother rules a country. I’m not my mother. Being a princess is not a problem for me.”
“It is for me.”
“It doesn’t have to be. It’s just an artificial reason you’ve always held on to, like your being eleven years older than me. Just one of those fake reasons you’re giving yourself so you won’t have to take the next step with me.”
“You’ve got me turned around in circles.”
&
nbsp; “Right. And you keep saying you love that.”
“Rory, you matter to me. And we’ve got something special between us. I don’t want to take a chance of wrecking it.”
“But, Walker, you’ve said it yourself. Everything between us has changed. In that sense, it’s already wrecked.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Don’t say the truth? Sorry, but there’s no going back. And I don’t want to go back.”
“You’re braver than I am.” He said it in a rough whisper as the rock-and-roll Christmas music pounded overhead. “You always have been.”
Was she? Not really. “You think I’m not scared—to lose what we’ve always had? Wrong. I just don’t see any going back now, that’s all.” Because I’ve been dealing with this wanting since the day I first saw you, she thought, but lacked the courage to say.
It seemed she’d spent most of their friendship getting all torn up over him, then getting over him and moving on—only to realize at some later point that the wanting hadn’t gone away at all. She’d just managed to pretend for a while that it had.
And if she were as brave as he seemed to think, she’d open her mouth and tell him right now that she’d been wanting him for seven years.
But she didn’t. She wasn’t that brave. And she just wasn’t ready to give him that kind of power over her.
He was watching her now, his focus absolute. A hungry wolf on the hunt, a hawk sighting the kill. How long had she waited for him to look at her in just this way—waited without really admitting to herself that she was waiting?
Too long.
She loved it, that look. So hungry and so hot. His blue gaze willed her to cross the distance between them and come to him.
She longed with her whole heart to do just that. But at some point, he had to do the reaching, to make the move. He had to be the one to come to her and he had to make that choice on his own.
He knew it, too. “You’re not coming over here.” Slowly, she shook her head. “You’re going to make me do it.”
“Uh-uh. You’re going to choose to do it.” Or not to do it, a knowing voice in her head taunted. She steeled her heart against that voice. Now was not the time for doubt.
He wanted her. And she’d made it more than clear that she was willing. He would come for her.
He said something so low that she couldn’t quite make out the word. Something thick and dangerous and dark. And then, at last, he straightened from the door.
And he came for her.
Chapter Eight
Walker went to her.
How could he help it? Why would he want to help it?
Lots of reasons. But he wasn’t going to think about those reasons now.
Now he was going to taste her. His second taste, after the one last night, when she took his shirt in her fist and brought his mouth down to hers and gave him a mind-numbing dose of everything he’d been missing.
He pushed himself away from the door and covered the space between them in three long strides.
And then, at last, he was in front of her, breathing the spice and citrus smell of her, cradling her angel’s face between his two hands. “This is bad.”
Her bronze gaze didn’t even waver. “So bad, it’s good.”
He lowered his head and brushed her lips with his. His brain was mush and his body was aching. He wanted to eat her all up in one greedy bite.
But he made himself take his time, forced himself to sink slowly into this, their second kiss. She sighed, opening. And he went deeper, savoring her. Dazed, thunderstruck, he drank her in.
Rory. A grown woman. Right here. In his shaking arms.
She whispered his name, “Walker,” her breath warm and sweet in his mouth. Her hair was down, silk and shadow, brushing across the backs of his hands.
He let his touch drift lower, fingers learning the velvety softness of her flesh, memorizing as he went. Along the smooth sweep of her neck, out across those pretty shoulders, down her arms until he could curl his fingers around hers.
“Walker,” she said again.
And the way she said it, that little hitch in her breath between one syllable and the next...
It undid him, turned the hunger loose in him so that he clasped her shoulders, his fingers digging in, and drew her close to him at last, dipping his tongue in deep.
She fit just right, curving in against him, wrapping her soft, bare arms around him. “Walker...” It came out as less than a real word, more like a sigh that time. More like a plea.
He knew her so well. Knew her beauty, her strength, her eagerness for life and every experience. Her frankness and her no-nonsense ways. Her willingness to work. The sound of her laughter, the shape of her mouth. Her heart, which was big and generous, always ready to give.
But in this way, as a woman he wanted, a woman he held in his hungry arms? Hardly at all.
He caressed her, forcing his impatient hands to go slowly, stroking down the slender shape of her back, into the dip at the base of her spine—and lower. She surged up closer, lifting her hips, pressing them into him, her softness cradling the aching bulge in his jeans.
A deep groan rose in his throat. He framed her face again and pressed his forehead to hers, trying to ease himself down a little, to slow his breath—and his need. “If we keep on like this, Rye’s desk will get a workout.”
She turned her mouth into his palm and bit the pad of his thumb, sending a sharp burst of pleasure racing along the nerves there, making him groan again. “I’m willing,” she said, her voice smoky and low. “But not exactly prepared.”
“Now you mention it, neither am I.” He hadn’t thought to bring a condom, hadn’t known how it would go with her, hadn’t dreamed he would need one—not right now, not here.
And come to think of it, no way. Not here. Not across his brother’s scarred-up desk in the back of McKellan’s. Not for their first time.
“Rory.” He brushed his hands down the satiny sweep of her hair. Because he could. Because this was happening. She wanted it and he wanted it and there was just no stopping it now. He might as well enjoy every second for as long as it lasted. So that later, if their friendship imploded in the aftermath of this unexpected five-alarm fire between them, well, at least he’d have some scorching memories to keep him company at night.
“Oh, Walker...”
“Not here.” He leaned closer, pressed his rough cheek to her smooth one, allowed himself to get lost again, just a little, in the feel and the scent of her. “It shouldn’t be here...”
She sighed. “You’re right. I know you are.”
Someone knocked at the door. “Walker?” It was Rye. “Rory? You in there?”
Walker pressed his forehead to hers again and whispered, “Caught in the act.”
She chuckled. And then she called out, “Yes, we’re here!”
The doorknob jiggled. “Why’s the door locked?”
Walker held her gaze. “Should I let him in?”
“Well, it is his office, after all.”
Rye jiggled the knob again. “Come on, you guys.”
“He’s not going away,” she said.
“Right.” Reluctantly, he let her go and went to open the door. “What?”
Rye regarded him, narrow-eyed. “What’s going on in here?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe it.”
Rye craned around him and asked Rory, “Everything okay?”
“Everything is just perfect,” she replied in that husky, womanly tone that put Walker’s poor body on high alert all over again.
Rye clapped him on the shoulder. “I was beginning to wonder if you would show.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“And then you got here—and disappeared again.”
“I’m right here. Ready to party.”
“You?” Rye scoffed. “Party? I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Rory stepped up close, taking Walker’s arm and pressing herself into his side, a more-than-friends move that had Rye’s eyes widening. Overhead, the DJ was still on the job. Walker could just make out Chuck Berry crooning “Merry Christmas, Baby.” She squeezed his arm and he gave her a look that probably revealed more than Rye needed to know.
“I want to dance,” she said, head tipped up to him, a knowing smile on those lips he couldn’t wait to kiss again.
When he looked back at Rye, his brother’s mouth was hanging open, his gaze darting from Rory to Walker and back again. Finally, Rye found his voice. “Well, okay, then. The night is young. Come on back upstairs.”
* * *
Rory would never forget that night. Whatever happened in the end between her and Walker, Clara and Ryan’s joint bachelor party at McKellan’s would be a memory to treasure.
She led Walker out onto the dance floor and melted into his arms. It wasn’t the first time she’d danced with him—far from it. But it was the first time dancing with him had ever felt like this. Sexy and intimate and heavy with the promise of what was to come.
She knew people were staring, most of them probably as stunned as Rye had been at the sight of two longtime good buddies suddenly discovering a whole new dimension to their relationship. Rory had no doubt the rumors were flying, just as they had when Clara and Ryan decided to get married.
But this, with her and Walker, was a whole different thing than with Clara and Ryan. She doubted people were talking about how it wasn’t that way between them. Because, well, as of tonight, it most definitely was that way. Exactly that way.
And Rory could not have cared less who knew it.
Oh, they didn’t get flagrant. Walker wasn’t the kind of man to get flagrant in public. But all she had to do was look up into those hungry blue eyes of his, feel the way he held her in those hard arms—just a little too close. Listen to his voice when he whispered in her ear.
Yeah. It was happening. It was that way between them.
A Bravo Christmas Wedding Page 11