Chapter Five

 

Ryan woke slowly. The room was warm, the blankets tossed lightly to his waist. Outside, the rain had stopped, streaks of grey in many shades reflected the sun rising in the opposite direction. Everything in him felt over a hundred percent and his gaze followed the curve of the blanket when the soft mew broke free before the long, lean body stretched and curled closer.

Soft, thick hair in shades of bronze rested against his shoulder. He felt her breath against his flesh and lifted one hand to brush the strands from her forehead.

“Please tell me it’s not morning,” Rose ignored the whimper in her voice and snuggled closer.

“It’s against my tenet to lie to you, sweet,” he chuckled and rolled to face her, pushing himself down until he could peer into the half open lashes.

“Piffle…you’re in business and you’re Irish. I know you can spin a tale should you choose to,” Rose sighed and rested her forehead against his. Her palm came up from her side, fingers twining in the long strands at the back of his head. She took a long, sensuous taste of him before shoving to her back and pulling the pillow over her face.

“It’ll put a serious dent in our friendship if you smother,” he remarked through a laugh. “It’s a few minutes to six.”

“I know…I peeked at the clock…” She had a vague memory of sleeping. Very vague. Oh, but the awake parts…those she remembered very clearly, she thought, sighing and shoving the pillow over her head. “Alright…shower…hot…”

“I don’t see movement.”

“It’s happening in my mind, trust me…” she worked to ignore the husky laughter until the blankets were tugged free. “Hey!” Eyes went wide when the bed moved and she suddenly felt nothing but air around her very naked form.

“I feel responsible for your lack of energy.”

“I’m absolving you!” Her arms flailed and went immediately to his neck when he carried her into the massive bathroom, cold tiles beneath her feet seconds before water struck from jets on both sides of the wide shower stall.

Ryan met the wild, wide eyes, still laughing even as she tried scaling him to get away from the chilling water pelting out at them. He didn’t think she could get any closer, her hands clenched in the thick hair at the back of his head, her face pressed into his throat. Her body stiffened and pressed firmly along his until the water began to heat. Very slowly he felt the muscles in her loosen and relax, her toes once more touching the tiles.

He met the tawny brown eyes, narrowed and promising havoc. Distracting her with a long, demanding kiss was not only a marvelous way to greet the morning, but served to extend his life expectancy a few days.

Ryan lifted the bottle of liquid soap, drizzling it along her shoulders even as she glared at him, silent and plotting, he was sure of it. He turned her to face the wall, smiling to himself when her hands came up and braced herself, feet slightly parted and head back, letting the stinging spray cascade over her head and face with a long sigh.

Rose was positive every bone she had was slowly melting. Strong hands with the occasional use of his fingernails massaged and stroked silky soap all over her. A low, plaintive moan broke free when his fingers moved to her scalp, lathering and turning her to rinse. Both their hands met in the effort to sweep the bronze cap back from her face. She lost herself to the intensity in his eyes, barely noticing the water around them.

 

 

Ryan wanted his control back. But when he gazed into those tawny eyes, he felt a hard surge of lust careening through him, his hands moving to the packet he’d brought with him to the shower. It stunned and shook him to his core that he could want her so strongly, so totally after their night together.

 

She felt the heated tiles behind her even as his hand skimmed down the slick sides of her body. Fingers cupped and pinched and brought a low, needy groan from deep inside her. His mouth swooped in and took hers in a long, hard kiss even as he bent slightly and lifted her against the wall, one hand easily holding her in place while the other guided his hardness into her warmth.

Tight, hot and wet, Ryan’s groan matched hers when her arms went around his neck, clinging to him as he surged into her over and over. Pinning her in place, his hands were set free, arousing her nipples, tweaking their passion when his hand slid over the damp flesh and tangled with the swollen, demanding nub that broke the last restraint. Her nails dug into his shoulders, her mouth pulled from his in deep, gasping breaths at the same time her lower body clamped down on his and continued the pressure until he came, hard and fierce.

Satisfaction flowed, if only for the moment. His head fell to rest against hers, kissing each other through the streaming water. His groan was inside when the legs she had wrapped around him slipped along his body, touching the tiles with a long, contented sigh. He backed away, rinsed quickly and stepped out of the shower, letting her finish alone.

 

Rose waited a few seconds before trying to make her legs work again, shaking hands braced beneath the spray a few minutes more before she shut off the water and pulled the large, fluffy towel into the stall with her. He’d left it for her. A part of her was puzzled at the silence. He hadn’t been silent through the night. They had laughed and talked like kids all night long.

She entered the large bedroom, their clothing from the night before draped over one of the chairs and her pack sat on the bed, waiting for her. She raked the feathered hair back with both hands, letting it fall into place as she dug out the clean underwear from her pack, dressing quickly and ignoring the green dress lying on the chair. She didn’t want to shove it into her pack. She carried her shoes into the other room, dropping to sit on the sofa and tie them into place.

Still nothing. He stood facing the patio doors, staring into the grey, slowly rising morning. She could smell the coffee and saw steam rising from the large cup in his hand, the other shoved deeply into his pocket. Rose moved cautiously to his side, her hand out to touch his arm lightly. He hadn’t dressed past his slacks, the long, silky hair tied neatly back in the thin leather string.

“Ryan? Are you alright?”

“Fine.”

“You’re quiet. What’s wrong?”

 

“I said I’m fine, Rose. Nothing…did I hurt you?” He turned to peer into a pair of sparkling amber eyes and felt himself slammed hard in the gut again. He’d known she was innocent. He’d known she might be hurt, sore at the very least. Yet nothing in him wanted to stop from taking her repeatedly.

“I...hurt me?” Rose blinked curiously, her head shaking and palm out to touch his face. But he took a step back. She felt a sting, her hand falling to her side as she tried to read the deep blue eyes. “In the shower?”

“Yes, Rose, in the shower,” his voice hard and flat. “Or in the bed…”

“I’ve got to admit to never having a shower like that before,” she exhaled slowly, her head shaking again. “You don’t think I’m strong enough to protest and even fight if you were hurting me? Or if it was something I didn’t want to happen?”

“You’ve no experience…”

“I’m a little new at this whole thing,” she agreed very slowly, unable to gauge what was going on in his mind this morning. “And my…muscles are stiff…but I’m alright, Ryan.”

“And I’m old enough to have better manners,” he bit out, angry at his behavior, angry at the control she seemed capable of crushing with a smile.

“I’m really confused right now…” She backed up slowly, her head shaking. Sweater in one hand, pack in the other, she went toward the door. “You did not hurt me in the shower. You pissed me off with the cold water, but I recovered and responded to…to you, Ryan. To your touch and your passion and to us. Now…when you figure out what in the world is wrong inside your head, you let me know. I’ve got to get to work,” Rose was still shaking her head as she moved quickly out of the room and toward the elevator, passing by the controls and taking the stairs two at a time until she was outside inhaling deeply of the fresh, cool morning.

 

She didn’t hear the strong curse that left his lips or the very solid palm he slapped on the counter before striding to the bedroom to finish dressing. The very first thing catching his attention was the emerald green dress lying over one of the back of the cushioned chair; small black heels lay on their sides on the floor. Her scent wafted threw him.

It was like walking point blank into a brick wall.

He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had spent the night with him, at his insistence. No, practically at his demand, he corrected flatly. Some part of him expected the desire, the need for her to vanish with the light of day. But it had only gotten stronger, more vital that he have her, possess her. And she had willingly returned the passion.

So what the hell was he pissed off about? Shouted a loud voice inside him, snapping a tie off the hanger, hands working it without thinking about what he was doing. He thought about his conversations with Jean Paul, thought about the feelings that were foreign to him that had crashed and exploded inside him because of Rose Maddock. Another part of him was angered that the focus he dealt to his projects seemed keener, more intent and more centered.

 

 

It was eleven when he walked into the florist shop outside the temporary office building, making his request and scrawling over the pristine white card before tucking it into the small envelope.

 

In between batches, Rose had been struggling to reconstruct their morning encounter. There had been laughter and plenty of passion and nothing to explain how things had gone cold and even angry. Too many times through the morning she had to stop and close her eyes, drawing in a long, steadying breath before shoving him out of her mind enough to do her job.

She returned from grabbing a sandwich, unconsciously aware of people glancing at her and smiling. Oddly, she thought suspiciously. It wasn’t until she rounded the corner to her large space that the brilliant collection of flowers sitting in the center of her desk explained the looks she had been getting. She hadn’t seen that many different and bright flowers in one place outside a vendor at the marketplace. And the smell was amazing. She leaned closer, eyes closed and just breathed.

Star lilies, orange roses, pink roses, carnations and even daisies. Rose sunk into her chair and just stared, her fingers holding the unopened envelope between them. Her lip pulled between her teeth, she slid the small white card out.

“My sincerest apologies. Trying to understand myself. Court time five? Please.”

Rose stared at the private cell number he had included, pulling her phone out and tapping it in. Not trusting her voice, she sent him a text after securing the court for them.

“Court time set for five.”

She tossed the phone into her pack and moved the flowers to the side, lifted her headset over her ears and tapped up some loud distracting music while she prepared batches for balance.

 

 

Ryan heard the thick sigh from his own lips when he approached the court. He didn’t blame her at all for the wariness inside the tawny eyes. Nor did he have a right to protest when she turned and went into the enclosed court without speaking to him. She went to the far corner, setting her bag out of the way and pulling the wrist guard on, snapping it into place before lifting the racquet, spinning it, gripping it and swinging before moving to stand at the line, the small blue ball bounced experimentally in the quiet room.

“Rose…”

“Have you worked up a decent story yet?” She interrupted tonelessly.

“I have no story,” he pushed through his teeth. “And I’m not convinced I even have a decent explanation to offer at the moment.” He still didn’t know why she mattered so much. Didn’t have a grasp on why it was vital she understand what was crashing around in his head, but he knew he’d find a way.

“Then don’t talk until you do,” she instructed, bounced the ball once before sending it soaring across the room and into the wall.

Rose literally threw herself into the game, partly studying how he played and how she responded to his shots. A big difference, she realized, was that he went after the shots he wanted, while she waited for the ball to come to her.

Well, she mused thoughtfully. Time for a little game improvement. She let her eyes and body track the ball, track him and move herself into positions to take the ball in a different angle, a more difficult angle that sent her arm soaring into the air at the final point of the first game.

Ryan went to his own corner. Like boxers, his mind shot out as he pulled the frosty bottle and downed a good part of it. His gaze slanted toward her. She was resting on her heels, head back and eyes closed.

“You’re altering your game.”

“I’m evolving,” she returned, her tone matching his. Low but lacking the slight swerve of curious that his held.

“You’re pissed.”

“I’m confused,” she returned sharply, standing up and tossing the ball to him. “Your serve.”

“If it matters, so am I.”

“Oh goodie…we’re at least on the same page tonight.”

“Rose…”

“Serve, Ryan,” she looked straight ahead, knowing how her next comment would be received. “And stop holding back.”

“Holding…the bloody hell I am!”

“Maybe you’re afraid I can’t take it…’cause I’m just a weak, little girl…”

“Rose…”

“Never get provoked,” she warned, watching the ball slice through the air toward her. “And stop holding back. I can bloody well hold my own,” she growled without looking at him.

Half way through the game Rose decided she had a secret death wish that only recently came to light.

Or a serious insanity glitch in her brain.

Or both. The only upside, was that he was indeed provoked and did make a few errors that cost him a point. But not nearly enough.

And he definitely was not holding back any longer.

Rose almost burst out laughing at a couple of the shots he worked hard to make, her own choices equally insane, she realized, breathing a long sigh of gratitude when the buzzer sounded that their time was up. She fell to her knees and hung her head for a long minute before dragging herself to her bag, draining the bottle of water she had and heading for the door, dripping sweat and ignoring everyone around her. They had evidently gathered a little crowd of on-lookers as they played out their frustrations.

“Rose…” His voice was hoarse and he was positive he had muscles screaming that he never knew he had before.

“I’m soaking in the hot tub,” she met his eyes without blinking, which wasn’t easy considering most of her dripped sweat. “You’re welcome to join me.” She shoved the door to the woman’s lockers open and went inside, barely making it to the bench before her knees told her she was losing it. She sunk down on the cool, thick bench, legs straight out and body bent in half, her head almost touching the floor.