Roughing It With Ryan Read online

  “All week, I imagine, getting that tree out and the others down.”

  All week. Would he talk to her in that voice of his, the one that said she was the only woman he saw? Would he touch her with those warm, sure hands? Or better yet, would he lean in and put that incredible mouth back on hers…?

  Oh, boy, there it went again, her vivid imagination. She didn’t want this inexplicable attraction. No sirree. She didn’t need anyone or anything but herself and her chef job.

  No matter how much her tingly nipples told her otherwise.

  4

  IT HAD BEEN JUST A KISS.

  That’s what Ryan told himself. All night long.

  But he wouldn’t have felt “just a kiss” from his head to his toes.

  And let’s not forget all the hot spots in between.

  Sure, there were plenty of logical reasons for the almost chemical-like attraction between himself and Suzanne, two perfect strangers. For one, the situation itself had been terrifying. Obviously, that had played a big role in what had happened between the two of them up there in that loft, trapped alone on a dark, stormy night.

  But somehow he knew, deep in his gut, the instant connection he’d felt with her couldn’t be blamed on the events of the evening. Nor could the way he would have done anything—anything—just to keep her safe.

  Unrested, and oddly driven to see her again in the light of day, he woke his crew at dawn. Not difficult as they were crashed on his couch.

  When he flipped on the lights in the living room, Russ groaned and buried his face into the couch cushion. “Five more minutes, Mom.”

  Mom had been gone for seven years. In fact, it had been Ryan to wake up his younger brothers for school every morning since, and still, no matter how much time went by, Russ, not a morning person, always talked to Mom first.

  Ryan hauled the blankets off the nineteen-year-old, and did the same to Russ’s twin, Rafe, who’d some time in the night fallen to the floor and stayed there.

  “There’s hot oatmeal and coffee,” he told them.

  “Hurry, we’ve got a full day ahead.”

  “We just went to bed,” Rafe whined.

  “And now we’re getting up.”

  “Donuts would be better.” Rafe stumbled to the bathroom. After a moment he poked his head back out. “We saving any pretty redheads today?”

  Ryan kicked the already back-to-sleep Russ’s feet off the couch. “The only thing in your future today is a tree. A big tree. Our white knightship is over.”

  “Ah, man.” Russ sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face, then suddenly brightened. “Hey! Don’t wear a shirt today, just in case.”

  “In case what?”

  “In case the pretty redhead decides to get wet in a tank and panties again.” Russ grinned wickedly. “If you don’t have a shirt to give her, then…” His eyebrows jerked up and down suggestively.

  Ryan hauled the covers off him. “Get up, you pervert.” He strode toward the kitchen. “And as for making fun of last night, she could have died up there in that loft.”

  “Jeez, Ryan, I was just kidding.” Russ stood and stretched. “But you can’t blame a guy for dreaming about the way she looked all wet and—” When Ryan stopped and sent him an intensely black look, Russ closed his mouth. “I’m going to eat now.”

  “Good idea.” Ryan went into the kitchen, leaned against the counter and closed his eyes, because he needed to think about something other than the image Russ had just put back in his brain. The one of Suzanne, drenched, with her clothes—his shirt—molded to her every curve, of which she had damn plenty.

  “You like her or something?” Russ asked, following him. “Because you seemed awfully into her last night.”

  His siblings put an enormous amount of energy into finding Ryan a woman. It didn’t take a genius to understand they wanted him happy. Which is why he pretended to date while actually going to college, just to keep them off his back. But as Suzanne seemed to have blindsided him with a genuine attraction he hadn’t felt in a very long time, he didn’t want to talk about it. Or her. “What I’m into,” he said, “is getting to work. Today.”

  “Okay, okay. You’re awfully touchy this morning.”

  Yeah, he was. And that he couldn’t seem to help it disturbed him more than he would ever have admitted.

  THE STORM HAD MOVED ON as fast as it had come, leaving the Southern California day beautiful and glistening. Ryan drove, listening to his brothers chatter about some party they were going to go to that night. South Village traffic was light at seven o’clock in the morning, although there were lots of pedestrians about. A woman jogging past in short shorts and a sports bra caused both Rafe and Russ to bump their faces against the window as they craned their respective necks trying to get a better view.

  “Grow up,” Ryan muttered, thinking he should have had another cup of coffee.

  “If growing up means not looking at a chick like that, then no thank you.”

  “Shut up, Rafe.” Russ gave Ryan a long worried look. “What’s the matter?”

  “What? Nothing.”

  “It’s something for you to not look at a beautiful woman,” he insisted. “You always look. Hell, then you sleep with half of them.”

  That wasn’t exactly true. Not even partially true.

  Okay, maybe partially true. In his twenties he’d been somewhat of a—

  “Slut,” Rafe said proudly. “I want to be just like you.”

  If they only knew. Between keeping the business going so he could feed everyone, and going to school, he was too tired to be a “slut.” Half the time he was too tired to even think about sex. Sorry state for a thirty-two-year old. “Not everything revolves around sex.”

  “Yes it does,” Russ said, and Rafe laughed.

  They pulled up to the jobsite. Surveying the damage of the fallen tree in the light of day, Ryan let out a slow whistle. Last night they’d simply gotten Suzanne out and put supports under the fallen tree to protect the building from further damage. Getting that baby off the building was going to be tricky. To get a better feel for what had to be done, he climbed a ladder alongside the trunk of the tree. Halfway up, he paused to put on his work gloves, and then went utterly still.

  He had a good view into the second floor window, which was apparently a bedroom, given that he was looking at the largest bed he’d ever seen.

  And in it, together, were two sleeping females.

  Taylor and Suzanne.

  MORNINGS WERE not Suzanne’s thing. She’d rather be tortured on the rack than have to leap out of bed. And yet given the persistent stab of sunlight against her lids, she could surmise she needed to do exactly that if she wanted to get to the restaurant in time for the start of her shift.

  Slowly she opened her eyes, keeping the rest of her body still. She’d sell her soul for coffee. Or cold pizza.

  Yet somehow she doubted Taylor had cold pizza in her fridge.

  As Suzanne’s eyes focused, she could see Taylor still slept, looking as disgustingly put together and gorgeous as ever. How did the woman do that, hardly messing up a hair on her head during sleep? It was nothing short of amazing. If she wasn’t so damn generous and giving, Suzanne would have hated her on principle.

  Her gaze wandered to the window. Instead of the Los Angeles skyline smudged by smog, she saw a pair of wide shoulders, and a broad chest silhouetted by the sun, topped by the face that had headlined her dreams all night long.

  Ryan.

  With the sun behind him, she couldn’t see his expression, but she could feel the tension in his big body, and knew he could see her much more clearly than she could see him. Beneath the luxurious covers, her body tingled, coming to the state of awareness she was beginning to associate with him. Lifting her hand, she waggled her fingers at him.

  He mirrored the gesture, adding a crooked smile that somehow replaced her need for coffee, and continued his way up the ladder. She caught a flash of flat belly, lean hips, then long, long legs, before he