Swallowing the lump in her throat, she got up and followed the music down the hall to the ballroom. She found the door closed and debated whether to interrupt. Maybe he wanted to be left alone. After she’d blatantly lied to him about the dream, she wouldn’t blame him.
Sucking it up, she knocked. Let him decide if he wanted her in there or not. Surprisingly, the door creaked open. She stepped into the room and at the sight of Ryan, froze as still as a statute while her heart sped up to the point of pain.
He was in jeans. No shirt. No shoes. Just tight pants which accentuated every muscle hidden underneath. For some reason, seeing him like that was sexier than if she’d seen him naked.
Okay, maybe not sexier than if he was naked because she hadn’t seen him totally naked yet. She shook her head and wrung her hands—scratch the yet part—but definitely sexier than Ryan in his underwear and Ryan in a towel. It wasn’t only what he was or wasn’t wearing. It was the intensity of his gaze, the confidence in his hand as it effortlessly glided back and forth over the piece of wood he held in his palm. What would it feel like to have all of that intensity directed at her? She’d only gotten a small taste of it last night. This Ryan . . . this was the man he hid from everyone. This was the one she’d give almost anything to know. This was the man she’d dreamed of these last two months.
She coughed, partly out of necessity to draw air into her lungs, and partly to alert him to her presence. Whether the music hampered his ability to hear her or he was too enraptured in his task, he didn’t acknowledge her. What was he doing?
She cautiously moved toward him. If he paid attention, he’d see her reflection in the mirror, but he was too busy staring at the small piece of wood in his hand.
“Ryan?” She reached out and tapped his naked shoulder then quickly pulled it back, curling her hand into a fist to resist the temptation of doing something which would defeat all of her good intentions.
He swirled around and dropped the wood to the floor. “Portia.” His eyes blazed hot as he looked her over from head to toe. He blinked a few times as if coming to his senses and bent to retrieve the wood. “What’s up?”
She didn’t want to yell her news about her date. “Could you turn down the music?”
He nodded and padded over to the iPod stereo. My Lord, that man had a fine ass. The sound of the music lowered and changed to a slow Aerosmith tune. He peered over his shoulder and grinned. “Are you checking out my butt?”
“No.” Her cheeks heated. Yeah, even if he hadn’t outright caught her staring at his behind, he’d know from her blush.
He set the wood down next to the speaker and strode to her, his hand outstretched. She swallowed, unable to make herself say the words she’d come to tell him. A rush of liquid heat ran through her veins as his fingers laced with hers, and he tugged her to his naked chest. He smelled different, the scent of wood mixed with his usual clean fragrance.
“I had a dream last night,” he said matter-of-factly, with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “You and I lived in Greece in a small cottage by the sea. We were married—”
“Ryan,” she interrupted, intending to stop him from telling her the rest and from making it harder to reveal what she needed to.
He lifted two fingers against her lips. “Shh. I’m not done. I was an artist and you were my Muse. You told me you were pregnant and I was the happiest man alive. I pulled you down to the grass to make love to you.”
His thumb glided over her lips sensuously just as they’d caressed the wood, and she bit her tongue to keep from taking it into her mouth. Their gazes locked as their bodies swayed to the music. His hand slid to cup her chin, as his mouth came closer and closer.
She sucked in a shaky breath. “I’m going on a date with Dillon tonight.”
He tensed. Dropped his hands. Stepped away.
The hurt in his eyes nearly tore her to shreds. Why was she doing this?
Before she could change her mind and tell him she wouldn’t go, she choked back a sob and turned on her heels, leaving him and her broken heart behind.
Chapter 15
If you be well pleased with this
And hold your fortune for your bliss,
Turn you where your lady is
And claim her with a loving kiss.
William Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice, act 3, scene 2
Braden poured Ryan a glass of ouzo. “You haven’t slept with her yet? Don’t you remember our pact? That’s the easiest and most enjoyable way to get a woman out of your system. Have I taught you nothing?” He looked at him with both a touch of disgust and envy as he pushed the glass in front of Ryan.