by Andrews, Amy
“Thanks,” Ryder said, giving the vet a grateful smile.
Going home to bed sounded ideal. He was beat. So was she. He wanted to hold her, make love to her, cherish her.
Imprint himself on her.
Then he wanted to curl himself around her and sleep safe in the knowledge that he loved her and, at least for the next two weeks, she was his.
Ryder lounged in the doorway of his bedroom, watching a fully-dressed Juliet hunting through her voluminous handbag for something. Her hair was pulled back in its usual ponytail and she was still in the jeans and T-shirt she’d hastily thrown on for their emergency dash to the vet.
As much as she wore the hell out of a pair of jeans, she wore the hell out of naked better.
“Is there a reason you’re still dressed?” He’d stripped to his underwear.
“I can’t find my bloody toothbrush,” she muttered with a frown as her face practically disappeared inside her handbag.
Ryder shook his head. Her and that bloody toothbrush. He pushed off the doorframe and headed for the bathroom, opening the left-hand vanity drawer when he got there and pulling out a new packaged toothbrush. He kept about half a dozen in the drawer, but Juliet still insisted on bringing her own.
That bloody stupid travel toothbrush… Its mere existence bugged the crap out of him.
He unwrapped the toothbrush from its plastic and threw it in the cup next to his with a satisfying clink. He liked the way it looked—two toothbrushes. It made his heart stupidly glad, and he grinned at it like an idiot.
Christ love was making him sappy.
She suddenly appeared behind him, still wearing that frown in her reflection. At least she’d removed her clothes and was wearing one of his old tatty Smoke jerseys. Seeing her in his club colours grabbed him by the balls every time. A roar of primal possessiveness thrummed through him.
Mine. My woman.
Tonight, though, it also slugged him in the centre of his chest, reminded him of how much he loved her, of how much he didn’t want to let her go, how much he was going to miss her.
She strode toward him but pulled up short when she noticed the empty packaging on the vanity. Her gaze darted to the cup holder, her mouth tightening as she stared at the new yellow toothbrush looking perky and pristine.
Her gaze met his in the mirror. “What is that?”
Her voice was so frosty he could have chipped ice off her. “A toothbrush,” he said patiently. “You can’t find yours, I keep spares. Hey presto.” He performed a little ta-da movement with his hands. “Problem solved.”
She looked at it like he’d dipped it in Mad Men juju. Like if she touched it she’d turn into some simpering, clingy woman who brought him his slippers and was gagging to have his babies.
Babies… Jesus. They’d make fucking gorgeous babies.
She glared at him. “I said no toothbrush.”
Ryder took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And how are you going to brush your teeth without one?”
She held up her index finger. “I can make do with this.”
He blinked. How bloody ridiculous. “It’s just a fucking toothbrush, Juliet. It’s not a marriage proposal.”
She folded her arms. “I’m leaving in two weeks.”
“So”—he shrugged—“use it for two weeks.” She didn’t seem impressed with his flippant answer and he sighed. “It’s a toothbrush.”
He couldn’t believe they were back here again—arguing about a stupid toothbrush when they could be getting naked.
When they had such little time left.
“What the hell is it with you and toothbrushes?” she demanded. “Always trying to get me to have one of yours. I see the way you look at my travel toothbrush, you know. God…” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen a man resent an inanimate object as much as you do that thing. I never knew such a big tough-guy rugby dude could be so damn threatened by some moulded plastic. Anybody would think it was a freaking foot-long vibrator!”
Ryder ground his jaw. He was tired, his dog had almost died, and his ankle was aching. But more than that, the woman he loved was walking out of his life in two weeks’ time. And even though she was currently behaving like some kind of medieval shrew, the thought beat like a jungle drum through his veins.
Leaving. Leaving. Leaving.
“Well?” she demanded again, her chest rising and falling in agitation. “What is your problem with me bringing my own goddamn toothbrush?”
Something inside Ryder snapped at her incredulous enquiry. Did she seriously not have a clue?
“Because every time you bring out that bloody toothbrush from you bag, I feel like you checked into a hotel for the night and I’m some kind of gigolo to keep you entertained.” He shoved a hand through his hair, his pulse roaring through his head. “I feel temporary. Like I’m some kind of transaction, and I’m not supposed to feel anything.”
Ryder was startled at the words that tumbled out. Surprised at how accurate they were. Other words—the ones he wasn’t supposed to say—hovered on his tongue. He shouldn’t say them, it wouldn’t make anything better, but god fucking damn it, he couldn’t not, either.
“Which is too bad, Juliet, because I love you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Silence pressed in around Juliet as she gaped at Ryder. Her heart gave a wild leap at his stunning admission, but she quashed it ruthlessly. She’d quit looking at his reflection and was staring straight at him.
No. No, no, no. This could not be happening. She’d been clear—crystal clear—about this.
He held up his hands in front of him in a placatory way as if he knew he’d overstepped the mark. “I’m not asking you to love me back, Juliet. I’m not asking you to stay behind for me, or not go to Italy.”
Juliet almost choked. “I fucking hope not.”
Hot acid lashed her oesophagus. She’d given up her dream for love once before and she’d told him she wouldn’t do it again. She’d told him no man was going to keep her from her dream.
How dare he fall in love with her.
“I’m just saying how it is. I can’t pretend that this is just sex. To be perfectly honest, this has never been just sex for me.”
Juliet wondered absently if some alien force had rappelled down from their ship and replaced her brain. Or his brain, for that matter. “I said no love. I was very specific.”
“I know. But hell, Juliet, it’s not something we have much control over, is it? I didn’t plan it. It just…happened, and I’m sorry but I don’t want this to be just sex. I’m sorry I changed my mind.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “So…this is my fault, is it? I’m the…bitch who wants only sex? Who won’t change her mind? Who rejects love? Oh no—”
She pushed away from the vanity. She couldn’t stand being this close to him. Not when there was a tiny traitorous thing unfurling inside at his admission, like a petal opening, pushing up and out, searching for sunshine.
She had to squash that thing dead.
Juliet strode to the doorway and turned. “I’m not going to be the bad guy here, Ryder, because you can’t be like every other man out there and think with your dick.”
He turned, leaning his ass on the edge of the vanity. Even from a few metres away she could see the whitening at the angle of his jaw. “I’m not asking you for anything, Juliet. I’m not asking you to stay.” His voice was like gravel. “I would never do that.”
“Then why would you even say those words in the first place?” Did he want her to go to the other side of the world feeling shitty and crappy about leaving him behind brokenhearted?
If he did love her, why would he do that?
“Maybe because…” He folded his arms across his naked chest and for a moment or two he looked like he wasn’t going to say what was on his mind. But then, jaw set, he ploughed on. “I was hoping you might feel the same way?”
Juliet gasped at his audacity. She did not love Ryder Davis. She. Did. Not.
>
A cynical smile touched his mouth. “Is it so hard to believe that you could let me into your heart as well as your body?”
“That wasn’t what this was about,” she yelled.
“You honestly think you get any choice in these matters?” He gave a dismissive snort. “Wake up. What the hell do you think we’ve been doing for the last six weeks?”
“Fucking.” She took the word and hurled it at him with as much force as she could. She would not romanticise this.
He shoved a hand on his hip. “It’s just been fucking to you?”
“I told you that was all it could be.”
“Yeah, you did.” He strode two paces forward until he was close enough for her to touch him. “And we fucked. A lot. And then we went out places and you met my friends and we got to know each other and we laughed and talked into the night and I gave you a key to my place and you gave me a key to yours and, stupidly, I thought I might be starting to mean more to you than some life support for a dick.”
He threw the word back at her with such contempt it puffed her fringe against her forehead.
The crazy thing was, he did. He did mean more than that to her. So much more. She liked and respected him. He was a great guy, who was good with dogs and drag queens and a good friend. She had no doubt one day he’d make a great junior coach.
But love…?
“How do you even know something like this after six weeks?”
She searched his face—his sexy, gorgeous face—for answers because it seemed utterly implausible. Sure, she’d fallen for her ex pretty quickly, but she’d been young and grieving and vulnerable.
She and Ryder were emotionally stable grown-ups.
He shook his head like it was obvious. “When you’ve been with a lot of women, you know when one is different, Juliet.”
The conviction in his voice rang like a bell.
God…this was her own stupid fault. She should have known better than to get involved with Ryder when she was leaving in two months. Apart from her brief period of revenge sex, she wasn’t someone who picked men up and discarded them.
Why on earth did she think she could do that with a man who had consumed her every waking and sleeping thought since he’d skidded into the shelter looking for help with Tiny?
God. Tiny…
She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’m leaving, Ryder.”
“I know.”
“Then how did you think this was going to play out?”
“I don’t know, I hadn’t thought that far. Maybe we could…do a long distance thing?”
“What?” Juliet blinked. Very, very long distance. “Are you going to…wait for me, Ryder?”
He shrugged. “It could work. I can’t take off to Italy right now, we’re not even halfway through the season yet. But I could come after. For a while.”
So he could come. For a while. After the season was over. Maybe. And then her whole trip she’d dreamed about forever would suddenly revolve around him and when he could make it over for a visit.
“And you could be celibate, faithful, true only to me, in that time?”
He frowned at her, clearly affronted by the implication he couldn’t. “Yes. Absolutely.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “And what’s the longest you’ve gone without having sex since you pulled on that blue and silver jersey?” His gaze didn’t leave hers, but the calculations going on behind his eyes weren’t coming out in his favour. “A few days? A week? Two?”
He didn’t answer and frankly Juliet didn’t want to hear. She didn’t want to think about the women who would come after her. She hadn’t given a rat’s ass about the ones before her, but the ones who would walk through this apartment and share Ryder’s bed after she’d gone?
Her chest ached at the thought.
She needed something to kill this long distance fantasy off. They’d both be miserable living that out. Her planning her movements around him. Ryder’s game performance suffering until he got benched or booted from the team. Every Sydney Smoke fan in the country making voodoo dolls in her image and sticking pins in her.
She didn’t need that kind of karma.
“I don’t think I could be celibate.” His eyebrows pulled down like big black wings. He was clearly shocked by her announcement, which annoyed her even more. “What?” she demanded. “I have appetites.”
Except the thought of taking an Italian lover—any lover—left a yawning emptiness in her belly. Like a stone freefalling into an abyss.
God damn him, she was supposed to be taking Italian lovers.
His mouth had flattened into a grim line. “I know all about your appetites, Juliet. I also know that I’m the only one who can feed them.”
It was an arrogantly preposterous statement, but Juliet very much feared it was true. That he’d ruined her for all other men. And it panicked the hell out of her.
She knew what she had to do now.
Should have done two weeks ago after their argument and before the subsequent angry sex. They only had two weeks left anyway. Might as well go cold turkey and be over the worst of it when she walked onto that plane.
“We’re done here.”
He didn’t try to argue or plead for more time. He just nodded and said, “Yeah, we are,” his lips a grim slash in the mask of his face, his jaw clenched tight.
It was his game face, stoic, staring down his enemy, not giving anything away.
A swell of emotion lodged in her throat and Juliet swallowed hard against it. He looked untouchable, a far cry from the fun guy she’d fallen into bed with, and it clawed at her, tugging at her conscience, making it impossible to walk away.
“I’m sorry. This is my fault. I should have said no to you that first time.”
His mouth cracked into a ghost of a smile. “I’m a hard guy to say no to.”
Juliet almost laughed. Wasn’t that the truth? “Good-bye, Ryder. It’s been fun.”
He inclined his head, his jaw still hard enough to break stone. “Bon voyage.”
She turned on her heel, unable to bear the stiffness of his frame, the frostiness of his response, or the heaviness of her heart a moment longer.
It wasn’t how she’d planned on saying good-bye to Ryder. But it was probably for the best. Leaving the country with her feelings for Ryder still tangled up in his bed sheets would have been hard, leaving with those feelings severed with all the force of an axe would make it easy to fly into the wild blue yonder.
Or at least that’s what she told herself as she walked away.
…
Juliet refused to spend the last two weeks of her time in Australia crying over Ryder. She’d made her decision and she refused to look back, to dwell. Sure, she didn’t change her sheets because she couldn’t bear to erase his spicy passionfruit scent, and ordering Chinese for one made her want to bawl like a baby, but she didn’t. If she gave in to tears she’d get nothing done and she had lots of things to do—people to say good-bye to, farewell parties to attend. She had to finish up at work and sort through her stuff and pack her bags.
She was busy. And grateful for it.
Too busy to think about Ryder and what he was up to. To think about his ankle or his training schedule or his game performance. Way too busy to think about how he looked in a tux, or his jersey, or bare-assed naked.
Too busy to remember how he laughed. How he kissed. How he fucked. Or his arrogant assertion that only he could feed her appetites.
She made two concessions—besides the sheets—to this deliberate denial of Ryder’s existence. The first was calling the vet and checking on Tiny. He’d stayed for three days after his operation, and she rang every day until he was discharged straight into the care of his owners who’d returned from their travels.
The second was boxing up all the crap he’d left behind in her apartment and dumping it on his front doorstep one morning when he was at training. She’d literally dumped and run on the impossibly rare chance that he was somehow inside the apartmen
t at ten in the morning, lying in wait for her.
Seeing him again would not be helpful. In fact, seeing him again could well be catastrophic to her equilibrium. She’d made a clean break and she was fine with it. She’d even convinced herself she was over him. Congratulated herself on such a swift recovery.
She did not want to call that into account or test the theory by coming face to face with him. She was happy living in her state of denial.
And that was it. The box was delivered and her hands were washed of Ryder Davis. He’d live on in her memory and no doubt her dreams—probably forever—but she’d closed the book on him.
And closed it stayed. Right up until the moment she was standing in the line to board her flight trying to ignore the heavy ache in her chest.
Damn it. She was supposed to be elated, euphoric. Happy-excited adrenaline was supposed to be flowing, not the impending-sense-of-doom adrenaline washing dread through her system.
The line was long and slow and she desperately tried to distract herself from the ludicrous squall of emotions battering her. She read the advertising posters around her, all glossy and slick, selling perfume and watches and luxury car models.
And rugby.
Juliet blinked. Was this some kind of sick joke? But no. There he was, just behind the airline staff checking boarding passes. Ryder Davis, in full Technicolour, staring back at her from a poster, arm in arm with four of his fellow Sydney Smoke teammates. His jersey hugged his chest and biceps and his shorts clung to his thighs and his mouth glinted in the light, his lips curving up into a smile that hinted at all the wicked things they could do to a woman’s body.
Her heart skipped a beat, then sped up, then fell apart, crumbling in her chest.
Oh crap.
She loved him. She loved Ryder Davis.
She loved his stupid face and his dumb smile and his idiotic biceps. Ever since he’d begged her for help with Tiny—that had been the moment she’d fallen for him. So big and capable and so damn confounded by an animal.
And leaving him would tear her in two.