The S Before Ex

by Mira Lyn Kelly

  Ryan popped a chip into his mouth, chewing around his words. “And games. The work is all a ruse. I’m the Bejeweled national champion this week.”

  “Being the genuine hard worker I am, slacker—” she paused for effect, batting her lashes at him “—I don’t even know what Bejeweled is.”

  “Now, that’s criminal. I’ll load it on your phone for you.”

  “No, thanks. You’re distracting me enough as it is.”

  Ryan flashed his teeth at her, all cocky, bad-boy charm and proud of it. “Am I?”

  “You don’t have to be so delighted!” She laughed, casting around for a set down and grasping at the first thing she found. “After all, you’re just a temporary distraction.”

  Jaw shifting out of line, he nodded amused understanding. “Whereas what you’ve got going on with the phone…is a long-term thing.”

  “Exactly. It works,” she said, waving a chip at him. “Don’t mess with it.”

  Ryan leaned into the chair watching her from across the table with a subtle smile playing over his lips.

  These were the dangerous moments, the ones where they were as comfortable with gull’s cries and rushing waves filling the air between them as they were with the conversation that came as easily as if they’d never let it fall away. The ones that were so quiet and unassuming, they caught her unawares. Slipping stealthily beneath her skin, expanding with a physical pressure until she wondered if it was pleasure or pain that had her at the point of bursting.

  Wondering how she was going to give this up again.

  The quiet strains of a moody love song cut through her thoughts, originating from the phone she loosely held in her lap.

  Ryan’s brow slammed down, his lazy posture going alert. “Here, pass that over.”

  Claire automatically began to hand the phone across the table, but then she caught the contact picture displaying the caller and her fingers clamped down. She knew those soft grey eyes and that nearly too wide smile, just like the rest of the country and probably the world did as well. Dahlia Dawson.

  Ryan’s ex. The actress he’d been seeing on and off for the past two years. The one with whom Ryan had promised things were over. Not just off-again. But here she was calling and suddenly Claire’s heart was in her throat, her stomach twisting into anxious knots.

  Only, she had no right.

  Forcing herself to relax her hold, she held out the small device. “It’s for you, I think,” she offered stupidly.

  Who else? It was his phone. His ex.

  Ryan took the device without a word, sending the call straight to voice mail.

  “You aren’t going to answer it?” She wanted to cry at the thin sound of her voice and the tremble tingeing her words.

  “No. I wouldn’t do that to you. Or her,” he said, meeting her with a level stare. “I’ll call back later.”

  Of course not. Ryan wasn’t the kind of man to treat someone cruelly or be casual with their feelings. It had always been that way with him and it had always been something she’d respected. Only now, she couldn’t help wondering what that courtesy meant for them and when exactly later would be?

  Would he wait until she was in the shower? Excuse himself from the room after a meal. Would she be left watching the door as her husband walked through it to call his girlfriend?

  The hot lick of shame scorched her cheeks, and she nearly choked as that last thought registered.

  Ryan was not her husband. Not in any of the ways that mattered and certainly not because of what was happening between them now.

  His stare hardened. “It’s over with Dahlia. I told you. So whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

  She didn’t know what she was thinking except that everything seemed more fragile and temporary than it had a few moments ago. As if the winds had shifted, taking that balmy comfortable breeze with it, and blowing in an uncertainty Claire had no right to feel.

  She’d known about the other women, both real and fabricated, for years. They hadn’t bothered her beyond the most mild irritation. Mostly anyway. But now, her gaze moved over the planes of Ryan’s face, the bulk of his shoulders and power of his arms. She studied the length and width of his fingers, the bronze of his skin and the crisp dark hairs of his forearms. She thought about the way he’d run his hands over her bare hip after they’d made love the night before. The way his gruff laugh sounded at her ear when she’d teased him.

  She’d begun looking at Ryan and thinking, “Mine.”

  He had been, once upon a time. But not anymore. In the years since they’d been apart, he’d belonged to other women.

  And she was jealous.

  Not so much that they’d had his body, though at this moment she was decidedly less than thrilled about that, but that they’d had his heart. His affection. A part of him apparently she’d still thought of as hers.

  “Claire?”

  She peered up at him, somewhat stunned by her revelation. “You know, as crazy as this may sound, I think a part of me was more comfortable believing all those tabloid reports about you and your exploits.”

  Ryan’s frown deepened and he leaned forward in his chair. “Why’s that?”

  “If you’d become some womanizing jerk who couldn’t keep his pants zipped, it would be easier for me to convince myself there hadn’t been anyone…special. That what we had was unique.”

  Ryan stared at her, the dark brown of his eyes fixed and unreadable. Maybe telling him had been as selfish as the thoughts themselves. Maybe more.

  She wasn’t supposed to want to keep him as her own. That wasn’t the point of what they were doing together.

  Pushing back from the table, Ryan picked up his plate and turned to the house. Well, really, what could she expect him to say in response to a statement like that? It didn’t merit a defense. And yet watching him walk off without a word cut her to the core.

  Ryan stopped at the door, his steps halting in a way that suggested hesitation over conviction. His head dropped a degree, angling to where she could see his features but not meet his eyes. “I didn’t marry any of them.”

  Claire was gone and Ryan was back in the L.A. office working late to make up for the time he’d been taking off around her visits. It was already after nine, but he’d easily be putting in a few more hours before calling it a night. This had just been a quick break to let the delivery guy in, plow through a turkey-and-avocado on whole grain and try a callback to Dahlia.

  She hadn’t answered, which wasn’t any surprise. She’d been impossible to connect with, even when they’d been together. And while it hadn’t particularly bothered him then, it did now. Because it wasn’t like her to call. It didn’t make sense.

  She wouldn’t pursue a reconciliation. Not the way they’d left things.

  And her PR manager had always been the one to contact him when there was a delicate media response to handle. So why, when they hadn’t been in touch in months and they’d both managed to stay relatively out of the news, had she decided to call now?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ANOTHER week, another visit.

  Progress on the asset division was coming steady but slow. Without a definitive deadline looming, they’d fallen into the habit of taking mornings off to enjoy a bit of local activity—jogging on the beach, exploring the tide pools, walking the caves at the cove, or taking their coffee over to surfing hot spot Windansea…something—anything—to act as a buffer between leaving bed and hitting divorce headquarters.

  Today, it was the La Jolla Open Aire Market, around which parking was always tight, so Ryan had let Claire out at the front gate while he looked for a spot. Catching sight of a woman loading her stroller into the back of her SUV half a block down Girard, Ryan waited for her to drive off and then pulled in. Not bad.

  Hopping out, he jogged back to the chain-link-fence opening that led into the elementary school playground that housed the market each Sunday. Within seconds, he had Claire in sight. She would have stood out with her raven-dark ponytail, na
vy ball cap and authentically distressed, orange T-shirt regardless, but somehow in the last month, his internal compass had started pointing due Claire again.

  Strange, the things that came back. More so, the things he’d been surprised to realize hadn’t gone away.

  Closing the distance between them, he skimmed his palm over that dangerous stretch of exposed skin above the low ride of her jeans and high hem of her shirt. “Knew I’d find you here.”

  Claire cast him a quick glance, her eyes bright, before returning her attention to the stand where bucket upon flower-filled bucket created a spectrum of vibrant hues, blossoms and buds that looked nearly as petal soft as the skin his fingers brushed.

  “The sunflowers, I think,” she said, pointing to her selection with a satisfied smile that left Ryan wondering how it was that every male within one hundred feet hadn’t stopped to gawk. Though on second glance, more than a few actually had. He couldn’t blame them.

  When Claire went for her money, he rolled his eyes, leaning in close to her ear as he stilled her hand. “Let’s call this a date, okay? Why don’t you let me buy you some flowers and a meal?”

  “A date?”

  He could hear the smile in her voice and knew at last he’d hit the jackpot. “Yeah. Been a while since we had one.”

  Ryan exchanged a few bills for the sunburst bouquet wrapped in old news, and handed it over to Claire, who smiled up at him from beneath her lashes with what unbelievably looked like a shy blush pinkening her cheeks.

  His heart turned over with a heavy thud at the sight of it.

  “Thank you, Ryan.”

  Damn, he could barely manage the noncommittal grunt, let alone try for words when she looked at him like that. When that pretty pink slid through his veins, warming them with something that wasn’t quite lust.

  Swallowing hard, he ushered her farther into the maze of merchants, hoping that amid the artisans, farm stands and bakery stalls, she wouldn’t notice that the man beside her had gone stupid over one sweet blush.

  It was just the kind of reaction he’d been doing his damnedest to avoid. But there it was. And his only consolation was that Claire would be gone tomorrow. Back to her life in New York and apart from him. For at least another two weeks.

  So what if she got to him more than he’d wanted to let her. The time they spent together was a fraction of what they spent apart and regardless of whatever feelings those little smiles stirred up in him, they both knew this relationship wasn’t destined to go the distance. In all honesty, it probably only felt as good as it did because of the limits they’d imposed on it.

  The paradise factor. When they were together, they were both outside their real lives. Outside their normal environment. La Jolla had always been his escape, and that’s what it was with Claire. A place where real life hadn’t invaded.

  Nothing messy.

  Nothing but fun.

  Even if that wasn’t it, they still couldn’t get in too deep for the simple fact there wasn’t time. Slow as the progress might be, they were making it. One of these weeks, probably within the next month, the settlement would be complete and then the divorce would follow. And this time with Claire would be over.

  No, he wasn’t looking forward to that day.

  He glanced down at her walking beside him, captivating even at her most casual, and wondered how he’d ever thought he had a chance at defending against this.

  Maybe if he’d known the effect she would have on him…no, he still would have gone to Rome to get her. Only then he wouldn’t have bothered to keep his distance; he’d have used every trick in the book to get her beneath him before they even left her suite. And then again on the jet. Definitely the jet.

  One playful bump of a hip against his had his thoughts plummeting from mile high to the delighted blue eyes gazing up at him.

  “This is an incredible market. So many temptations all in one place.”

  “Yeah, which ones are you finding the hardest to resist?”

  She pointed out several vendors, her weaknesses running the gamut from decadent pastries, to handmade soaps, hanging tapestries and everything in between. Ryan glanced around, enjoying the market with new eyes as Claire cut a slow path through the crowd until they’d passed the food court and come to an open lawn area. More stands lined the perimeter, and at the center people gathered to eat picnic style in the grass while listening to a female soloist who played the guitar and sang in a voice so melodic it begged listeners to close their eyes and lie down.

  “Hungry?” he asked, getting that way himself. “You could sit and I’ll bring something back.”

  Claire’s hand slipped over her stomach, and for an instant Ryan’s world screeched to a halt. Too many memories associated with that gesture for his peace of mind. But she’d merely rubbed a palm over the flat plane and shrugged. “Actually, I’m starving. What’s good here?”

  A few minutes later Ryan returned balancing three flimsy trays of the best Mexican this side of the border, with a couple of waters pinned under his arm. He scanned the crowd, looking for the gorgeous brunette tucked beneath the Cubs cap she’d snagged from his closet that morning. A hoot of laughter caught his attention from the far end of the market. Before he turned, he knew.

  Hula hoops.

  A wide grassy expanse behind the last row of booths was dotted with females of every age, race, shape and ability. Each swiveling her hips with a smile that sparkled as brightly as the elaborately decorated hoop making its revolutions around her hips. And there in the center was Claire.

  That too-small-to-begin-with T-shirt riding around her ribs. Jeans dangerously low. Arms up, her sunflowers carefully set off to the side. Her hips—God help him—moving in slow undulations that emphasized the slim strength in her belly and instantly set his body to respond. He swallowed. Hard. And walked to the edge of the hula grounds.

  Claire glanced up, eyes gleaming with mirth when she caught his expression. “You like it. I know you do.”

  He offered a stiff nod. “Just come and get the money out of my pocket. We’re buying it.”

  Claire arched a brow and, stopping inches too close, slipped her hand into his front pocket, snickering when he glared a warning after the first graze of her fingers against him.

  “You’re about two seconds from lunch going into the trash and you and your hula hoop going over my shoulder.”

  “Oooh,” she teased, stroking her fingers to run the length of him again. “Big man…with all those threats.”

  The tacos nearly hit the ground with the clench of his fist, but Claire, giggling wickedly, was quick on the extraction and managed to help him rebalance the trays before they were lost.

  “You’re a very, very bad girl.”

  Another impish wink. She knew it. Hell, she was reveling in it. “So spank me.”

  Ryan’s jaw clenched tight, and the popping sound of his molars threatening to grind down to dust forced him to look away. God help him, the minute he got her alone he would.

  Seated within the circle of her spectacular new hula hoop, the remnants of their lunch stacked beside her, Claire squinted into the pale blue sky above. “So why La Jolla?”

  Ryan cocked his head and turned a lopsided smile her way. “You’ve seen it. I’m surprised you need to ask.”

  A gentle breeze tickled her neck and ears. “No, I see how beautiful it is. But it’s not exactly part of Silicon Valley or a hotbed of investment opportunity, at least of the variety you seem drawn to. So how’d you find it?”

  “A friend introduced me to the place a few years back. It’s close enough to L.A. that the drive is more than manageable, but far enough to get away from the chaos.”

  Fingering a thick blade of grass, Claire asked, “Hollywood chaos?”

  The barest pause and then, “Yes.”

  Claire nodded, glancing away.

  His actress girlfriend had brought him down here to get away from the hubbub. And he’d enjoyed it enough to build a place of his own.

&n
bsp; What a different world he lived in. At times she wondered how she recognized him at all, except, even as different as his life had become…he was so much the same man. The man she’d fallen for too hard. Depended on too much. Treated too unfairly. The man she’d never completely gotten over—no matter what lies she’d been telling herself all this time.

  “Claire—”

  “I can definitely understand the draw,” she cut him off with an encompassing wave of her hand. She shouldn’t have asked about Hollywood. Didn’t want to know any more than she already did about Dahlia. Whether he’d been talking to her again. If they’d remained friends.

  Teasingly, she drove the point home with a flirty wink. “If my ex didn’t have a place down here, I might consider it for myself.”

  “Oh, yeah? Think you could afford it?”

  She leaned conspiratorially toward him. “I’m coming into a bit of cash.”

  Ryan chuckled, leaning back on his arms. “Not until we settle.”

  “You in a rush?”

  “No. It has to get done, but I’m not in any rush.”

  Searching Ryan’s eyes, she found easy understanding in them. The warm comfort of a connection not completely dead. Softly, she answered, “Then neither am I.”

  Together they stretched back into the bed of grass and, blanketed by the sun’s warm rays, listened to the midday lullaby of music and laughter mingling around them.

  It might have been a half hour, or maybe only ten minutes, but briefly time and space and the weight of the world disappeared and there’d been only the contentment of drifting in the plane between sleep and wake.

  Refreshed, Claire sat up, tucking her legs to one side. Ryan lay beside her, his breath coming slow and regular. Sleeping. She could see it in the relaxed lines of his chiseled face. Sense it in the quiet between them.

  Her hand moved to the center of his chest, and she closed her eyes. Felt the steady thump, thump of his heart beat beneath her fingertips, wrap around her nerve endings and wind in a rhythmic pulse through her arm until his vitality mingled at the very heart of her own.