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Montana Darling(23)

By:Debra Salonen


“It’s your life, man. Take however long you need to figure things out. You get to decide.’”

She pulled the plug on the soapy water. “Have you? Decided? What you’re going to do?”

He knew what he’d like to do. He wanted to kiss her again. Right here, in the lemon-scented bouquet from the wash water. Instead, he folded the damp dishtowel neatly and laid it beside the sink. “I know what I don’t want to do. Does that count?”

She hopped to the counter, her white stocking feet dangling. “That’s half the battle…at least, it was for me.” She gazed past his shoulder, thinking. “Regardless of my health, I knew I couldn’t raise a family on my own while working in the Cheyenne District Attorney’s office. I’d either screw up my kids or let a serial killer walk because I missed something…neither sounded like a viable option.”

He stepped between her legs. She blinked in surprise but didn’t pull back. “Good call. Any chance we could continue this conversation at my place?”

She inhaled slowly, her teeth worrying her bottom lip as she silently debated the wisdom of what most certainly would not be one-sided sex. Were they friends? Were they going to be friends with benefits? Was he dreaming or rushing her? He braced for her answer.

“Okay.”

“Really?” He risked a quick kiss, which she returned with an eagerness that pleased him. “Cool.”

Of course, that tiny taste only made him want more. He wanted her—every bit as much as he’d ever wanted any woman. The knowledge unnerved him, but that didn’t change how he felt. “Maybe we could toss my bike in the back of your car.”

“Good idea. I’ll go tell the kids. It was starting to sprinkle when I let the dog in. If the temperature drops any more, the rain will turn to ice. Safety first is the Big Z way,” she added with an enticing hint of humor.

She scooted forward and lowered herself to the floor, her front rubbing with slow, seductive friction against his front. Then, with a soft snicker, she slipped away.

He took a clean wine glass that hadn’t gotten put away and filled it with water from the tap. He drank his fill. He didn’t know how deep this connection would go, but he knew one thing for certain—they were a thing. A hot, gotta-have-me-some-of-this kind of thing. And Ryker was ready.

*

Mia pulled into the driveway between the garage and the main house, which had been converted to Jenkins’s Fish and Game and Bedazzled Bling. Her windshield wipers whacked back and forth relentlessly, barely clearing enough space for her to read the sign suspended under the front overhang.

“I’ll be right back,” Ryker said, jumping out.

A gust of cold air chased in before he could get the door closed.

She shifted in the heated seat to look over her shoulder. The rear hatch opened and, after a brief tussle, he pulled his bike from the SUV’s back area. The rivulets of rain on the driver’s side window and fog from her warm breath made it impossible to watch as he stowed his bike in the garage.

She’d just leaned forward to turn up the fan when he rapped on her window.

She opened the door a crack, her doubts returning. Was the weather a sign she’d made the wrong choice? “Your umbrella, ma’am.”

The gesture made her heart melt a little. “You’re a gentleman.”

“Be sure to tell your dad. I think he had his doubts about me.”

His tone made her kick her hesitation to the curb. The weather in Montana was always changeable. This squall had nothing to do with her desire to explore the attraction she felt toward this man. And she wasn’t daddy’s little girl trying to be perfect. She’d wasted too damn much of her life on that futile goal.

She opened the door and got out after stuffing her purse under her jacket. He put his arm around her shoulders, holding the umbrella at an angle to keep the wind from blowing the rain sideways. “Dad’s cautious. Mom’s more adventurous. She talked him into buying the travel trailer. They visited friends in Arizona one winter and she decided she was ready to become a Montana snowbird. Dad resisted for another year, but, eventually, she wore him down. Now, he can’t wait to get down south.”

They waddled quite gracelessly through the wet yard to the patio, which provided enough protection for Ryker to shake out the umbrella and stash it in a dry corner. He pulled a key from his pocket. “Side door,” he said, drawing her with him. “The slider is very sticky.”

Mia had been to Bailey’s workshop several times, but never at night. They kicked off their shoes and boots on a wide woven mat. “My socks are wet.”

“Mine, too. We can dry them on the register in my room.”

His hand was warm and comforting. “Want some tea or cocoa? Won’t be as good as Sage Carrigan’s.”

She squeezed his fingers. “Nothing right now.”

Was that signal clear enough? She wanted something that had nothing to do with food. She wanted him, God help her. She even brought along a couple of the condoms she bought in Bozeman the last time she was there. Not because for fear of pregnancy but because she hadn’t taken him up on his offer of a doctor’s report.

Her lack of female plumbing was another reason why this fling with Ryker could never go any further than a little temporary fun. He wasn’t even thirty. He’d want children at some point. He deserved a family of his own. She wasn’t the right woman for him…long-term, but for tonight? She wasn’t a sex fiend, but she felt fairly confident they’d both enjoy what was about to happen.

“What’s it like living in a jewelry store?” she asked as they passed the new showroom.

He shrugged. “Ask me in a week. When I was doing school pictures, I left in the morning before the ladies got here and they were gone by the time I got back.” He paused, his smile a bit mischievous. “But they’re really nice. They think I’m too thin so they leave plates of goodies for me. One of the ladies—I don’t know which—makes the best brownies on the planet. Do you want one?”

She did. “I cut sugar out of my diet because somebody told me or I read somewhere that sugar feeds cancer cells.”

He pulled her close. “But you got rid of the cancer cells.”

“I did, didn’t I?” What was her excuse for cutting pleasure from her diet? As a punishment for getting sick in the first place? “Okay. Give me a brownie.”

His smile triggered something silly, bright and magical inside her. She applauded when he danced like some crazy hipster down the hallway to the kitchen. He was a young Tom Cruise in white socks and blue jeans, with a mop of curls and laughing eyes.

He returned a second later in serious waiter mode—a yellow plate resting on his uplifted hand. “Madam,” he said with a phony French accent. “If you weel follow me. Your table…or should I say…bed…is waiting.”

Bed. The b-word. God, I’m really going to do this, aren’t I?

His bow was her answer. Tonight was about having fun.

Exactly what he made her want to feel again. Ryker Bensen was the right man to remind her she was still alive.

She walked to the open door at the end of the hallway. The house was quiet, despite the storm raging outside. He reached in to flick on the light. A bedside lamp cast a warm yellowish glow across a queen-size bed. A hand-stitched patchwork quilt in dark blues and yellow gave the place a pleasant, welcoming vibe.

“It’s nice.”

“Good word. I agree.”

He ushered her in. Not forcefully, but with a steady, reassuring hand at the base of her spine. She knew he would have stepped back instantly if she’d changed her mind. That knowledge made her march into the room and sit on the bed. She bounced a couple of times as if testing the firmness of the mattress before buying it.

Ryker went to the upholstered chair situated between the window and the bed and sat. He hunched forward, fingers woven together. His body language told her he wanted to talk.

Damn.

“Mia, I’m glad you’re here. Delighted, actually.” His smile was reassuring, until he added, “But I think we should clear the air before we go any further.”

“Because of our legal issues?”

“No. That’s…stuff. It’ll get resolved—one way or the other. I’m confident we can work out something fair. I meant…correct me if I’m wrong, but this is the first time you’ve been with another man since your life hit the fan…so to speak, isn’t it?”

She wanted to be put out by the question, but, strangely, she wasn’t. “Am I an open book to you? Nobody’s ever said that about me before.”

“No. You’re a sweetheart. A goddess. An enigma. All of the above. But for some reason, I feel you.”

She leaned back on her elbows, a grin slowly forming on her lips. “You feel me? Is that some kind of woo-woo California-speak? I thought you were from the east coast. And France.”

He was out of the chair before she could blink. His body hovered above hers. Not touching, but close enough to feel his heat, his substance, his heartbeat. She smelled the scent of him—wet hair, cold air, pizza and wine on his breath. And she knew what he was waiting for her to say.

She let her head fall to the mattress as she stared into his eyes. “I feel you, too.”