The Favour

“That’s my favorite too. What’s number two on your list?”

“Raiders of the Lost Ark—the whole trilogy.”

“Good choice,” Ryder said. “George Lucas is a great filmmaker. He made my top ten. And you can’t beat those films for rip-roaring adventure. What’s in your number-three slot?”

“Hitchcock. Psycho, Rear Window, North by Northwest, To Catch a Thief.”

“That’s amazing. They’re all number two on my list. Now for the big question. Why do you love to watch movies?”

Sierra bit back a sigh. “That’s easy. I love movies because they allow me to do all the things that I can’t do in real life. How about you?”

“I like them because they end happily. That’s something that you can’t always get in real life either.”

“True. I’m a fan of happy endings too.”

“Seems we have something in common, Doc. What about books?”

“Is it my turn to ask questions yet?” Sierra asked dryly.

Ryder chuckled. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Sierra glanced down at her blue card. “If you were a musical instrument, which would you choose to be—a guitar, a keyboard or drums?”

“That’s easy. Depending on my mood, I’d be all three.”

A little arrow of heat shot through Sierra even as she turned over the card. According to her notes, a man who favored a guitar was not only very good with his fingers, but very attentive to details. A master at foreplay. The man who preferred a keyboard would also be clever with his hands and very skilled at improvising. He’d provide a lot of fun in bed. The drummer would be more demanding. And he’d provide earthy, down-and-dirty sex. As her knees went weak, Sierra leaned against the wall of the building. Was it possible for a man to embody all three styles of lovemaking?

“Earth to Sierra,” Ryder said. “How’d I do on that one?”

“Fi—” Sierra cleared her throat and tried again. “Fine. You did just fine.”

“So, tell me—what did you learn from that question?”

“Learn?” Thunder rumbled overhead and Sierra backed further into the shop entranceway.

“C’mon, Doc. This is some kind of psychological test, right? I say guitar and you slip me into a neat little category.”

Sierra blinked. Ryder Kane’s easy, laid-back manner hid a very sharp mind. “Sort of. Is that why you said you could be all three? Because you don’t like to be categorized?”

“Nope. I said all three because it’s the truth. Now it’s my turn. Which one of those instruments would you be?”

“You’re not supposed to ask that yet. I have more questions.”

“Aw, c’mon. Bend the rules, Doc. I’m curious. Would you be a guitar, a keyboard or a set of drums? Wait. Give me a minute. Let’s see if I can guess.”

Sierra glanced up from the note card and saw that the rain was pouring down in earnest now. Pedestrians were huddled beneath umbrellas and hurrying to their destinations, and traffic on the street had slowed. She really should go. Her plan had been to arrive at the Blue Pepper early enough to review her notes and run through her introduction in her head. But the urgency she usually felt about arriving early had washed away as easily as the traces of chalk on the sidewalk nearby.

“You’re definitely not drums,” he said.

“No.” Sierra nearly smiled at the idea. According to her notes, “drums” were aggressive, loved fast, hard sex and could last all night. She had no problem imagining Ryder Kane being all of those things. Doing all of those things. To her. The pImages** tumbling into her mind sent rays of electricity right to her core.

“I’m betting on the guitar over the keyboard,” he finally said. “But it’s a close call. Am I right?”

Sierra tried to gather her scattered thoughts.

“Are you still there, Doc?”

Sierra moistened lips that had gone as dry as her throat. “The truth is….” Pausing, she cleared her throat. “I have trouble imagining myself as any one of the three. Of course, I’m aware of what each instrument represents.”

“So it’s hard to give an unbiased answer.”

“Exactly.” Sierra found herself relaxing a bit. It occurred to her that she’d never felt this comfortable talking to a man before. On the street, rain was pouring down in sheets. Pedestrian traffic had cleared, and her position in the recessed entryway made her feel as if she were alone with Ryder.

“What are the three instruments an indication of?”

“They’re supposed to suggest what your style is as a lover.”

“Ah. Well, the only true way to discover what style a person has as a lover is to experience it. And even then, the person’s style might change depending on the two people involved and the particular moment.”

There was a pause while neither of them said anything, and the Beatles sang merrily about loving me, do.

“I’ve given a lot of thought to what particular style I’d like to use with you, Doc. You interested?”

More pImages** flashed through Sierra’s head—each one of them some variation of Ryder Kane, his naked limbs tangled with hers.

“I’ll take that as a yes. First, I’d want to kiss you again. You have the most amazing mouth, and I bet there are flavors that I haven’t yet discovered.”

Sierra pressed fingers to her lips.

“Then I’d want to touch you—all over—for a very long time. Your hair first. I wanted to run my hands through it the moment it came loose.”

An image formed in her mind of Ryder doing just that.

“Then there’s a spot right in the hollow of your throat where your skin is so delicate that I can see your pulse push against the skin. Touch it for me, Sierra.”

She already had. The frantic beat of it against her fingers sent ribbons of heat radiating through her entire body.

“And then I’d want to run my fingers over the skin right above your breasts and slowly around and beneath them. Do you like to have your breasts touched, Sierra?”

“I…you…” Words were eluding her, blocked out by the pImages** in her mind and the sensations streaming through her. But her answer seemed to satisfy him, because he went on. And on. And she went on imagining what it would feel like if he traced little patterns between her breasts and on her stomach.

She pressed her hand to her waist. Her body was on fire one second and icy the next. Then he was tracing patterns on the back of her knee, on the inside of her thigh.

She sighed as explosions of pleasure shot across her nerve endings. Her eyes closed. Her bones began to soften. In some far corner of her mind, she knew where she was and that an occasional person still passed by with an umbrella tipped against the pouring rain. But she was trapped by Ryder’s words in an alternate reality.

“And then, I’d have to touch you inside. I wouldn’t be able to help myself. I’d have to slip my fingers inside you.”

It was a good thing that she was leaning against the door of the store because she felt dizzy. And the fire burning in her center had become so intense it was a wonder she didn’t melt.