Trusting Ryan

It had to be how long they’d known each other without acknowledging the attraction between them.

It had to be the overdone steak.

It absolutely could not be that she’d in any way given any part of her heart to the man who was even now inside her.

Making her want to do it again.

“I’m sorry—am I too heavy?” Ryan lifted his shoulder off hers. The chilled air that drifted over her newly exposed skin was not welcome.

“No.” With one hand on his backside, holding him in place, and another on his shoulder, she pulled him back down. “You feel good.”

“I’m about to fall asleep.”

She’d figured so. Any man she’d ever been with—not that there’d been that many—had either jumped up and thrown on clothes immediately afterward, or fallen asleep without a word.

Novel to have someone actually talk to her about doing either.

“Sleep awhile, then,” she said softly, thinking she’d do the same herself.

Another first.

“But I don’t really want to sleep.” He raised up enough to look her in the eye. “I don’t want to waste a single moment with you.”

Oh, God, I am in serious trouble.

“I think that’s just about the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She told her new lover the unadorned truth. And lifted her head to plant a small kiss on lips that were slightly swollen.

Had she done that?

And left that love mark on his neck, too?

Was he going to be angry when he saw that?

Guiding his head gently back down to her chest, she ran her fingers slowly back and forth through his hair. It was full and thick, even for its shortness. And surprisingly soft.

So many things about this man were surprising to her. And yet, not surprising at all. He fit her so exactly, not only where they were still connected, but in all ways. He approached his job as she did, with everything he had, sparing little for any other life. He cared. He didn’t give up. He saw reality and still believed.

He had unbounded energy and had found a way, in spite of the experience and time it took to make detective, to avoid cynicism.

The weight of his head grew heavier and she hoped he’d allowed himself to rest. The man had worked all night. And if she had to guess, she’d figure he’d been up all day today, getting ready for tonight.

Everything in the apartment had been perfect. He’d dusted since she’d been there last. Vacuum marks had still lined the carpet. And the furniture outside was new, added since her previous visit when she’d peeked outside to the empty patio.

Dinner had already been prepared, other than the cooking of the steaks. Even the meat had been marinated.

It all spoke Ryan to her. Attention to every detail. Few mistakes. Dependable.

And she couldn’t fall prey to the tugs he was making on her heart. Neediness had cost her part of her soul.

A part she’d never get back.

As she continued to stroke his hair, Audrey glanced around the bedroom. As pristine as the rest of his apartment, and as sparsely decorated, the room was what she would have expected of a man whose priority was not his home, but rather, in getting the sleep he needed to do his job.

A bed. A dresser. Another big-screen television—for those sleepless nights? No window treatments other than the standard white blinds that were on every window in the condo.

And in every other unit in the complex, as far she’d been able to tell.

Nothing that really spoke of the man’s life. His past. No pictures of parents—or any other family. No obvious mementos from past girlfriends.

Not even a receipt on the dresser or a belt hanging from the doorknob.

He didn’t put himself out there.

And that was just fine with her.

“I want to make love to you again.” The words were uttered against her skin. Other than his mouth he hadn’t moved.

And she was already filling up with the moist heat that threatened to flood her lower belly. With a hand on his buttocks, she pulled him more fully inside her again.

“Then I think you should,” she whispered, needing him so badly she ached for him.

But only physically.

Please, God, let it only be physical.

CHAPTER FIVE

RYAN GOT UP in time to make it to the meeting with Scott Markovich. The kid, fearing that his stepfather would hurt his mother if he was in detention and not there to protect her, admitted that the woman had been home the afternoon the bastard had come after Scott in a way a man should never come at a boy.

She’d been drinking since early morning and had been plastered enough that her husband thought he could get away with a little on the side with her son.

He’d miscalculated Scott’s determination never to be touched that way again.

He’d also overestimated his wife’s stupor. She’d come into the room soon enough to keep Scott from killing the son of a bitch.

And she’d promised him that from that moment forward she would never, ever let another drop of alcohol pass her lips.

Scott believed her.

Ryan didn’t. As much as Scott wasn’t going to like it at first, being separated from his mother was the best thing that could happen to the boy. There was a relative, an aunt on his father’s side, who desperately wanted him.

None of that was Ryan’s business, however. His business here was almost done. A report to the prosecutor and he was out.

Another job done. A successful outcome this time.

Not something he ever took for granted.

Just as he didn’t take for granted the woman who, on Saturday night, he was once again holding in his arms.