Dreams of Her Own (12 page)

Then she remembered. “Ugh. I guess I can cross getting drunk off my list.” At this point she was wondering why she’d ever put it on her list in the first place. “What was I thinking?”

Looking down, she realized she still wore the clothes she had on yesterday, and . . . she smacked her lips, her mouth tasted like she’d been licking the bottom of her shoe.

She rose from the bed and even the few steps it took to get to her kitchen might as well have been the last few steps to the summit of Mt. Everest.

Visions of being carried into her apartment flashed across her brain like lightning in a summer storm. But by whom? Mortified, she slid to the floor, her legs exhausted from their hike. Laying her head back against the cabinet, she closed her eyes, and wondered what else she’d done while under the influence.

Chapter 14

After letting herself in, Millie tiptoed across Darcy’s foyer. Later than usual, and dealing with a headache of massive proportions, she headed straight for the kitchen and the strong cup of tea she hadn’t had the energy to make at home.

Darcy had just put the kettle on. “Morning, sunshine.”

Millie groaned. “You’re up early and feeling chipper.”

“I’m not up early, you’re just late. And I’m finally over my morning sickness, at least I think I am.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Millie muttered, embarrassed by her tardiness and unprofessionalism.

“How are you feeling?” Darcy asked as she took cups out of the cupboard.

“Like someone forgot to bury me. Why did you let me drink so much?” She sank into a chair at the kitchen table, unable to do even the slightest thing to help Darcy make the tea.

Darcy barked out a laugh. At Millie’s wince, Darcy said, “Sorry.” Lowering her voice, she continued, “How many glasses do you think you had?”

“I don’t know. A few.”

“A few? Millie, you had one.” She held up her index finger for emphasis. “One glass of wine.”

“One?” Sighing, she put her head in her hands. “I really am a cheap date.”

“One of these days you’re going to have to tell me what brought that on.” Darcy took the kettle off just before the whistle.

Not. In. This. Lifetime. “How did I get home?”

“Nathan and Josh drove you home in Laura’s car.”

Perfect. It wasn’t enough that she’d humiliated herself in front of one man. No. She had to go and humiliate herself in front of two more.

That’s it
. She would erase sex from her list. And alcohol. Because she was going to join a convent. Or an all-female commune. That way she would never humiliate herself in front of a man again.

“Drink this. Good strong English Breakfast Tea.” Darcy ran her hand across Millie’s back, soothing her, as she placed the cup of tea in front of her. Breathing in the steam, Millie’s headache receded a millimeter. “I’ll get you some aspirin.”

“Did I do anything . . . stupid last night?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘stupid.’” Darcy sat the bottle of aspirin in front of Millie and then sat across from her, a cup of tea in her hand.

Millie groaned. Maybe she could find work elsewhere. She’d make a good assistant for just about anyone. “What did I do?”

“You called Ian on his cell phone and said something about being bothered and leaving.”

Millie lowered her forehead to the table’s cool surface. That settles it.
I have to find a new job.

“You want to tell me what’s going on between you and Ian?”

Millie jerked her head up and instantly regretted it. Holding her head in both hands, she said, “Nothing. There’s absolutely nothing going on between me and Ian.” And wasn’t that just the problem?

Ian had an unpleasant ta
sk to complete that morning. Rejecting Millie’s offer, as if his treatment of her weren’t enough. Ruby had taught him that if you get the unpleasant tasks done first thing, then you put them behind you and get on with your day. Problem was, he’d yet to lay eyes on Millie.

Darcy had said something about errands, so he’d have to put it off until she returned.

He thought about her inebriated phone call. She didn’t strike him as someone who imbibed. And, he knew the type. Very well. First his stepfather, then his mother to escape the hell of her marriage.

What the hell had possessed Millie to make a deal with him for sex and then get toasted and drunk dial him? Baffled, he turned his attention to installing the Winnie the Pooh outlet plates in the bathroom, now that the painting was completed. Tomorrow he would paint the closet doors and plantation shutters for the nursery.

The job was coming along nicely, on schedule despite Ruby’s illness. Too bad he couldn’t say the same for the Hawkins Hall RFP. This job was probably the most important of his career, and he’d have to tackle it without Ruby’s help. He realized now that he’d used her for a crutch for far too long. Now he may just pay the price by losing this bid.

At the end of the day, Ian pulled on his jacket and gloves, prepared for a particularly frigid ride home. A hot shower awaited him, and a beef stew he’d thrown together using the bachelor’s best friend, a slow cooker. Last week he’d made a kick-ass, smokin’ hot pot of chili that sustained him a few nights.

Millie had managed to elude him all day, so he still had that business hanging over his head. Going downstairs, he ran into the devil of which he spoke. Here goes nothing.

“Millie? You got a minute?”

She looked up at him like a deer caught in headlights.

Well, shit.

She nodded, biting her lip.

“About last night—”

“Forget it,” Millie muttered, her face aflame.

“Which part am I supposed to forget? The part where you offered a deal for sex? Or the part where you drunk dialed me?”

“Both. Just forget both.” She tried to step around him, but he blocked her.

“Millie, listen to me.” He kept his distance to avoid making her any more uncomfortable. “I appreciate your . . . offer, but I don’t barter for sex.” She stared down at her feet. “And you shouldn’t either. Jesus, Millie, I hope you don’t make a habit of that with the men you meet.”

Her gaze shot to his face, her mouth defiant, her eyes glittering. Good. He liked her better that way. Not cowed and embarrassed.

“No. I don’t. I just thought . . .”

“Well, don’t think like that.” At her continued silence, he sighed. “Look, can I give you a ride home?”

“No. I, uh, a friend is picking me up.”

He nodded.
So she has other friends besides Darcy. That’s good.
“You’re not going out drinking, are you? Do I need to shut off my phone?”

Her mouth twitched like she wanted to smile. “No.”

“Good. See you Monday.”

When did she get so good at lying? Millie wond
ered, as she walked the seven blocks to the subway. She didn’t have a friend picking her up. She’d take the subway home just like every other night, eat her microwave dinner, and curl up with a book. Or her manuscript. Alone.

“Be bold,” she muttered, drawing unwelcome attention from Darcy’s neighbor as he waited for his dog to do his business.
Great plan. And look where that got me.
Humiliated. Again.

Ian had been kind, but he’d made it perfectly clear he had no intention of having sex with her. And not only that, that he had no
desire
to either.

She’d clearly misjudged the kitchen encounter. More likely, she’d just imagined it. Wishful thinking, and all that.

Burrowing deeper into her coat, she stopped a minute to admire the corner brownstone with its holiday light display. The cheerfulness of the scene only made her loneliness keener. She looked back down Darcy’s street at the Christmas trees or Menorah’s in the front windows, and she thought about the families who lived there. Families who were likely sitting down to dinner together, or maybe curling up on the sofa to watch a sappy holiday movie.

The holiday season had never felt so lonely. Sighing, she continued her commute to the subway and the empty apartment waiting for her, her invisibility weighing on her like a lead cloak.

Saturday afternoon, Ian drove his truck into the loft’
s indoor parking space. He’d spent the morning taking care of Ruby. First, buying groceries, then preparing lunch, and finally sitting with her while she watched
Inspector Lewis
. She continued to hold her own, and her mind remained sharp as ever, but he knew it was only a matter of time. The doctor said the chemo wasn’t working, and she hadn’t qualified for the clinical trial.

Life was so goddamned unfair. Never smoked a day in her life and fighting lung cancer. And losing.

After a hot shower to shake off the cold, and some leftover stew, he sat down to tackle the Hawkins Hall RFP. Why he’d ever thrown his name in he’d never know.

Only two pages into the instructions and he struggled. He thought about Millie’s offer. Wondered how easy it would be for her to put together a professional proposal. And wondered what it would be like to feel her skin against his. Hear her breathy moans.

Shaking his head, he picked up the instructions again. It had been far too long since he’d had sex. He’d been too busy. That, and he just hadn’t met anyone lately who’d flipped his switch. The memory of Millie’s body pressed against his resurfaced. Until Millie.

What was it about the dowdy, brainy, klutzy, sometimes socially awkward woman that intrigued him? Taking a pull on his soda, he closed his eyes and listed her attributes. Smart, kind to a fault, efficient, warm . . . sexy. His eyes flew open. Sexy? Where had that come from?

From the feel of her in his arms, in his hands. From the taste of her skin. Her scent. That mouth. That voice. Hell, her voice alone could make a dead man come.

He tossed the fifty pages of instructions down on the desk in exasperation. Maybe he’d been too hasty in rejecting her offer. Right now, seemed like a win-win.

A couple of days later, waiting at the bottom of the stairs for Dar
cy, Millie buttoned up her coat, then took her gloves out of the pocket. Although born and raised in New York, she’d never quite gotten used to the cold.

With Christmas a few days away, she and Darcy were headed out for some last minute shopping. Darcy insisted she get out in the fresh air and get some exercise, despite Millie’s assurances that she could handle the shopping on her own.

At least the outing would remove her from Ian’s presence.

“Hey, Ian, we’re going out for a couple of hours. See you when we return,” Darcy said to the devil himself.

“See ya, Darcy.”

Pulling on her gloves, Darcy started down the stairs. A few steps from the bottom, her foot slipped out from under her. She teetered on the edge, just missing the railing with her outstretched hand.

Millie watched in horror as Darcy slid down the stairs, feet first, her arms around her belly as if to protect it. Her momentum carried her to the bottom of the stairs, where her head hit with a sickening thud against the bottom tread.

Chapter 15

A scream tore from Millie’s throat as she scrambled over to Darcy, motionless on the floor.

Ian’s booted feet thundered down the stairs. “Holy shit!”

Millie felt the pulse in Darcy’s neck. Slow, but steady.

Ian ran into the living room, snatched a throw off the sofa, and draped it over Darcy. “I’ll call 911.”

Millie placed her hand over Darcy’s belly and felt a flutter of movement. “Thank God.” Tears stung her eyes.
Please. Please be all right.

“They’re on their way,” Ian said a couple of minutes later, as he knelt over Darcy gently feeling her legs and arms for breaks. “The baby?”

“Moving around.”

He nodded, his expression grim. “What happened?”

“Her foot slipped and she-she hit her head.” Millie tried to still her shaking. “I need to call Josh.”

“Go. I’ll stay with her.”

“Don’t-Don’t let her move if she comes to.”

He nodded again, and took over her spot holding Darcy’s hand.

The sound of sirens drew closer as she told a frantic Josh what had happened. Hanging up, Millie squeezed her eyes shut, but after seeing Darcy’s fall like a replay in her head, she opened them again and moved back into the foyer.

“Josh will meet us at the hospital.” She strode over to the front door as the ambulance arrived and the paramedics jumped out.

“We’ll follow the ambulance on my motorcycle,” Ian said.

Ian brought
coffee to a worried Josh, then took a seat a polite distance away from the family.

Years spent without a visit to the hospital, now twice in less than a month.

Darcy’s friends and family packed the waiting room. Her friend Laura, Darcy’s parents, sister, and brother. Gloria. Even a woman he gathered was Darcy’s editor. Laura held Josh’s hand, while Darcy’s mom spoke softly to him on the other side. He looked like a man facing a firing squad.

Millie sat next to a well-dressed guy named Nathan, who he thought might be Laura’s husband, her hand in his. Like Josh, she wore a mask of shock and disbelief.

A tight-knit group. Darcy was well-loved. And, clearly, so was Millie. He’d watched as everyone who entered gave her a hug. Now Nathan draped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her in for an embrace, before rising and walking out of the waiting room.

Ian got up and took the seat Nathan had vacated. “You okay? Can I get you anything? Some tea?” He’d noticed Millie always either had cup of tea in her hand, or one within easy reach at Darcy’s.

She shook her head, and a tear drop splattered on her hand.

His heart squeezed, and he took her hand in both of his. “Hey. She’s going to be fine.”

Millie nodded.

“You love her, don’t you?” he asked, his voice soft.

“She’s my best friend,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She sniffed. “She was the first person who seemed to really
want
to spend time with me. The first person who paid me any attention.” She covered her mouth with her free hand, stifling a sob. “And she wants this baby so much.” The last barely audible as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Ian closed his eyes at the pain in Millie’s voice. Wrapping his arm around her, he gathered her close, then found himself pressing a kiss to her hair. At the touch, Millie melted against him.

“Mr. Ryan.” A woman wearing scrubs, a white coat, and a stethoscope stood in the doorway.

Josh shot to his feet, then stood rooted to the spot. The doctor entered the room clearly realizing she would need to go to Josh.

“I’m Dr. Kincade.”

“Doctor, you can tell everyone,” Josh said, his voice gruff with pain and worry. “They’re all family.”

“Well, then. Mrs. Ryan and the baby are going to be fine.”

Josh ran his hands over his face, and a collective sigh of relief swept through the room, as hugs were shared.

“She has a mild concussion and some contusions, but no broken bones. We’re going to keep her overnight for observation, and she’ll be off her feet for a couple of days, but the baby is fine, and I don’t see any reason why she can’t carry it to term.”

“Can I see her?” Josh asked.

“Yes. And she’s also asking for Millie?” The doctor surveyed the room.

Millie glanced at Ian, then stepped forward. “I’m Millie.”

“I’ll be here when you’re done. I can take you home,” Ian assured her.

Darkness had fallen by the time Mil
lie and Ian arrived at her apartment. Still numb from the frightening events of the afternoon, Millie struggled to climb off the bike.

“Hold on.” Ian’s gruff voice penetrated her haze.

He climbed off and turned to her, lifting her off the bike as if she weighed nothing. Taking the helmet off her head, he said, “If you’re going to keep riding my motorcycle, we’re going to have to get you a helmet.”

Did she just hear him correctly? He was going to get her a helmet so she could ride with him?
She gave herself a mental headshake. No, her brain was just playing tricks on her.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside.” He guided her down the sidewalk to her building. Stopping in front of the door, he ran his hand down her back, soothing her, then gathered her against his warmth. “You did good today,” he murmured against her hair. “You stayed calm and handled the situation. Darcy’s very lucky to have you.”

“I’m so glad she and the baby are okay.” Mille pushed away enough to look up into his eyes, which had turned a dark gray. His gaze drifted to her mouth and she knew to the depths of her soul he was going to kiss her, and God she hoped so. Then again, she’d been wrong before.

He tipped his head, stopping just shy of her lips. “This okay?” he asked, his voice breathless and raspy.

That raspiness grated against nerve endings she never knew she had. She nodded.

His warm mouth brushed hers so tenderly, like a butterfly landing on a flower. Then his tongue parted her lips, seeking entry. More than willing, she complied, letting him show her how. Sensations flooded her. An amalgam of emotions. Exhilaration, fear, lust, and tenderness.

After the adrenalin rush this afternoon, and now this, she felt faint. She clung to him, her fingers digging into the leather of his jacket, desperate to remain standing. And conscious. She didn’t want to forget a nanosecond of this kiss.

His tongue swirled against hers, a dance he was comfortable leading. He changed the angle, deepening the kiss until she thought she might slither to the ground in a boneless heap.

Her fingers found their way to his hair, sliding through the silky locks. A moan escaped. Hers or his?

Withdrawing, he slid his mouth along the line of her jaw to the spot just below her ear. She shivered at his breath in her ear, and she felt it run along her spine to settle in her belly with a slow, simmering warmth. “Millie, I’ve wanted to kiss you here.”

Excitement raced through her. He’d wanted to kiss her? Ian Brand had wanted to kiss
her? Then why had he rejected her offer?

He backed her up against the building’s brick wall and skimmed his hands up her neck, cupping her face. Thrusting his body against hers, Millie could feel his erection. Her eyes flew open. He
wanted
her?

“Does this . . . Does this mean you’re accepting my offer?” Millie asked, her voice husky.

Confusion skittered across Ian’s face. “Offer?”

Heat flooded her. He’d forgotten her offer.

Ian grasped her shoulders and took a step back. “
Is that the only reason you think I would want to have sex with you?” Truth was, her offer was the furthest thing from his mind. He didn’t give a good goddamn about the offer.

He placed his finger under her chin, lifting it up so he could see her face. Her eyes were still downcast, and a lovely flush colored her cheeks, but he hated seeing her so ashamed.

“Millie? Is that what you think? That a man would only have sex with you if you promised something in return?”

She nodded.

“Why? Why would you think that?”

She finally lifted her eyes to his. “Look at me.”

His chest tightened at her whispered response. “I am.” He lowered his mouth to hers, sucking that full bottom lip in between his teeth. She tasted so damn good. Like sweetness, with a dash of heat. His hands slid to her hips, slender beneath her coat and the layers of bulky clothes, and pressed her against his erection. Lifting his head, he said, “Do you think the offer to help me with paperwork gave me this?”

She shook her head.

“No. Remembering how you looked standing in the kitchen in nothing but your bra and skirt gave me this. The feel of your breast in my hand the other day. Imagining you without all these clothes. Tasting your lips, your skin. That’s what gave me this.” Millie’s eyes were round as an owl’s, her sexy little mouth open in disbelief. “Millie, I’d like it if you invited me up.”

At her nod, Ian took her hand and waited for her to un
lock the front door. Her legs quivered so bad, she wasn’t sure she could make it up the stairs without falling.

On the second floor landing, Chelsea came flying around the corner, killer heels clicking on the floor. “Oh hi, Millie.” Then she spotted Ian. “Oh!” She smoothed her hair. “Hi!”

Ian simply nodded and guided Millie up the next flight of stairs.

“Have fun!” Chelsea called up.

Millie wanted to peel off her too-warm coat as the heat of embarrassment combined with the heat of lust elevated her body temperature.
Just let me get him to my apartment before he comes to his senses and realizes he has an appointment.

With a psychologist.

To have his head examined.

For wanting to have sex with her.

At the door to her apartment, she stopped, fumbled with the keys, before dropping them with a loud clatter to the floor.

“Here.” Ian bent over and retrieved the keys. “Which one?”

Millie pointed out the key and Ian unlocked the door, allowing her to enter first, before handing the keys back to her. She left the lights off on purpose, but he flicked them on.

As soon as he’d closed the door, he pulled her around and pressed her against the door.

Millie’s heart raced, as if trying to clamber out of her chest. God. What if he
was
a serial killer?

He braced his hands on either side of her head, caging her in. But no, she remembered the tenderness he’d shown Darcy after she fell. She recalled his arms around her at the hospital, his lips in her hair.

Latching onto her wrists, he raised them over her head. She dropped the keys. Again. Leaning his whole body into hers, he captured her mouth with his. Maybe he was into BDSM, she thought, as he plundered her, still holding her hands above her head. She didn’t care. Whatever he was into, he could get into it with her.

He released her hands and quickly unbuttoned her coat, tugging it from her shoulders, before dropping it onto the floor. She closed her eyes. Couldn’t they just have sex like they did in the Victorian era? Fully clothed?

His hands were gliding down her body, finding the hem of her sweater, pulling it up and over her head, leaving her in her white cotton camisole and bra, and her brown wool pants. She opened her eyes wide in surprise.

She could barely draw in a breath as his eyes, heavy-lidded and sleepy, roamed her body. He reached up and took the pins from her hair, then ran his fingers through it to untwist the bun and spread it around her shoulders.

“My God, Millie. Look at you,” he breathed, then kissed the top of her breast.

If her knees hadn’t been locked, she’d have slipped to the floor.

Kissing her other breast, he worked on the button and zipper of her pants.

“The lights,” she gasped, as her hips thrust into his hands with a mind of their own.

“What about them?” he murmured, dragging his lips and tongue across the tops of her breasts, his hands working her pants down her hips to her legs, then letting them fall to the floor.

“Shouldn’t we . . . shouldn’t we turn them off?”

“No. I want to see you.”

He trailed his lips down her abdomen, sending shivers along her spine. Reaching the bottom of her camisole, he lifted it, revealing bare skin. When he bent and pressed his mouth to her navel, she threw her head back against the door with a
thunk
and moaned. And when his mouth drifted lower still, she knotted her hands in his hair, both longing for, and dreading where he was headed.

Embarrassed by her sensible white cotton panties, she closed her eyes, hoping to avoid his disappointed expression. Men preferred Victoria’s Secret models in lace and silk, not frumpy bookworms in white cotton.

Instead, he pressed his face between her legs, and she cried out.

“Sweet Millie.” His warm breath tickled her upper thighs, flooding her body with heat, and a hunger for anything he was willing to give.