Fiery (3 page)

Placing his lips on hers, Ryan kissed her. He didn’t devour her, though his libido urged him to. He didn’t kiss her tentatively, though she resembled an antique doll. Firm, but not demanding, he moved his lips, brushed the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip.

She opened for him, but he didn’t take the plunge. The hint of spice intrigued him. He slid his tongue over her lip again, easing the slightest bit into her mouth. Spicy and sweet. Not coffee. Chai with a sprinkle of cayenne.

Carmen moaned, tightened her hold on his collar. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. Holding her, he lifted her from the bench and turned to sit. He settled her on his lap and while every impulse told him to go for the bases, he settled for sliding his hand from her waist to her hip. His fingers sought purchase in her curves.

“Ryan,” she whispered against his lips.

“Hmm?” He moved to her neck, memorizing the softness of her flesh.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Life’s too short for shouldn’ts.”

She released the hold she had on his collar and moved her hands to his neck. Her fingers slipped into his hair. Longer than it had been in sixteen years, she found enough to grip. The light tug ramped his desire up a notch.

He nipped at her neck, pulling for only a second at her skin. She arched against him. Her breasts, shown to perfection by the low buttons on the top and the red bra peaking along the edge, swelled.

She settled her mouth at his ear and swiped her tongue across his lobe. His heart slammed against his ribs. His blood thrummed.

He could happily take her to the wood floor of the gazebo and drive deep. Instead, he trailed his mouth along her neck. Pulling her shirt and bra strap back as far as her shirt would allow, he kissed her collar bone. His free hand slid along her stomach, reached for the knot of her shirt.

A single tug was all he needed to have the knot falling free. With that gone, the shirt slipped farther up and down her shoulder. He’d never needed a woman like he found himself needing Carmen, and that made her a danger he couldn’t indulge.

Struggling to breathe evenly, he eased back.

She followed his retreat for half a second before shaking her head and moving off his lap. She turned away while she righted her clothes. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Probably not,” he agreed. Though he already wanted to do it again.

“Don’t think you won just because I let you kiss me.”

“You kissed me back, Woman.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“And you call me bossy.”

She lifted a shoulder in a jerky shrug. He still felt the satin of that shoulder on his tongue. She didn’t want him to think she was submissive. Her eagerness to argue would make the next few weeks of working together a misery, yet a part of him liked that she wanted to fight.

Not ready for the next round quite yet, he went to her. Resting a gentle hand on her shoulder he turned her. “Why don’t you call it quits for today?”

“I haven’t done anything.”

She’d done more than enough, though. “I can finish ripping out the bushes.” The exertion of some energy might help his arousal subside, though he doubted it would last long. “If you’re free later we could get together to discuss the plans.”

“What’s wrong with what I drew?”

“Too many of the plants aren’t native to Maine and some of the rock ideas won’t work. Too many little ones needed that would never stay put.”

“The plants aren’t native?”

“I don’t work with non-natives.”

She huffed. “I get it. You’re a purist snob.”

“No. I just don’t like the way they take over the area, driving out everything that belongs here.”

“Is that so?” She shook her head and stomped toward the gazebo steps. She spun at the edge and glared at him. “Just so you know, sometimes the non-natives are what add color to a place. You natives need to learn to adapt.”

She stormed away before he could form a rebuttal. Somehow he doubted they’d been talking about the same thing. He hadn’t meant her when he’d made the comment about non-natives, but the truth of the double meaning was real enough. She was a non-native and her existence in town was changing things.

Three days had passed since he’d kissed her. Aside from a meeting about what they’d need for the project, Carmen had spent those three days avoiding Ryan. Keeping busy with her friends had helped, but he’d commanded her thoughts frequently.

He’d phoned, and she’d vowed to give Byron an earful for giving her number out. He’d called to her on the street, and she’d turned the other way pretending not to notice or hear him. He’d shown up at her apartment, and she’d pretended not to be home.

The man’s determination was slightly admirable and a lot annoying. Every time she saw him or heard his voice in her voicemail she was transported back to the gazebo. Her body trembled again with the memory of his touch. A place inside her, a place she’d always kept hidden, wished he hadn’t stopped. Or that she’d had the courage to ask for more.

It was a few minutes before closing, with the last appointments gone, when the salon door opened.

“Secret wishes fade like a wind’s whisper. We’re as trustworthy as a favorite sister.” Vic often programmed short, suggestive messages in her custom door chime. The recent greeting was longer than normal, and less sexy, but as usual, it had been stirring up conversation and kept the salon hopping with gossip.

“Welcome to The Whispering Salon,” Carmen said as she swept a small pile of hair into the dustpan. “I’ll be right with you.” 

Welcoming the distraction that pulled her from her thoughts, she straightened and turned. Her wrist went lax, allowing the hair to tumble from the pan.

Ryan stood inside the door in jeans, socks and a polo shirt embroidered with Alden Landscaping. He lifted a hand in a small wave.

She wondered about his shoes, but only shook her head. Why couldn’t the man leave her alone? He’d complained about non-natives changing everything, yet he was the one in pursuit. If he wanted nothing to change he should stay away.

“I need a trim.”

Broom and empty dustpan in hand, she moved quickly and ducked into Vic’s office before he could argue. The relief on Vic’s face when she looked up from the laptop suggested she was working on her checkbook, her least favorite part of business ownership, and welcomed the distraction. “What’s up, Carmen?”

“You have a client.”

Vic looked through the two-way mirror that served as a window from her office. Her lips curled and she shook her head. “Sorry, he’s all yours.”

“I can’t cut his hair. I can’t deal with him at all right now.”

She checked her watch and shrugged. “You’re going to have to. I have to get home. The social worker is coming over to the house.”

Carmen could refuse to help him, tell him to come back another day when one of the other girls was working. That wasn’t her, though. “Fine. He wants a haircut. I’ll give him a haircut.”

Vic pressed her lips together, closed her eyes and held her breath for a moment. When she looked back at Carmen, she was near laughter. “Please don’t scalp him.”

“He was a Marine. He can handle anything I do.”

Vic gave up on resistance and laughed as Carmen headed back into the salon. With a jerk of her head, she gestured for him to follow her to the shampoo sink. She didn’t wait for him to sit before she turned the water on to adjust the temperature. Ryan grabbed a towel from the shelf and wrapped it around his neck before sitting in the chair and lowering his head into the sink.

“I’m leaving, Carmen.” Vic waved as she headed to the front door with her keys in hand. She flipped the door sign to Closed. “I’ll see you in the morning.” Saying nothing more, she closed and locked the door behind her.

Carmen hadn’t anticipated finding herself locked up with the man she’d been avoiding. The man she hoped would kiss her again.

Alone, with his eyes staring up at her, she wished she were the water running over her palm and down the drain. With no escape, she averted her gaze from his and instead focused on his hair. She’d had her hands in his hair, felt the silky strands moving between her fingers, when he’d kissed her three days ago.

If she’d been braver or more experienced she might have pulled him closer and asked for more. Swallowing regrets, she set the hose against his hairline and wet his hair. She tried to be professional and look at him like any other client. She failed.

His dark hair darkened more beneath the water, became silkier. Her stomach knotted as she squirted shampoo into her palm. Sparks erupted along her hands as she worked the cleanser into a lather.

Ryan’s eyes drifted closed, but his lids fluttered quickly. He kept them closed while she rinsed, but his fingers gripped the arms of the chair. He kept them closed while she reached for the conditioner, but his lips parted on a shaky breath when she slid her fingers into his hair again.

Not seeing the intensity of his gray gaze suited her almost as much as getting to study him privately. Waves of awareness rolled through her with each stroke of the creamy conditioner gliding through his hair. An image flashed in her mind of her straddling him while she massaged his scalp.

Shaking her head to clear the mental picture, she squeezed her fingers together, tugging lightly on his hair. He scrunched his eyes the slightest bit and released a tiny moan. His throat rippled with a swallow.

Her mouth watered with the desire to have him stretched out, shirtless, before her. She bit back a moan of her own and rolled her hips as the picture of her straddling him returned. She could glide her slippery hands over his chest and down his stomach to the waist of his pants. To the buckle, button and zipper… Her eyes widened when she followed the path of her fantasy and saw the length of his arousal.

Carmen shook her head—hard and fast—to clear the haze. Turning her face to the ceiling, she sent up a silent prayer for control. Needing to get a grip, and not on him, she quickly rinsed his hair and tugged at the towel around his neck.

Ryan sat up and asked quietly, huskily, “Where do you want me?”

Her brain shut down, allowing no thoughts or actions to be processed.

“Carmen?”

She blinked and then nodded to the second of the four chairs. Once he’d settled, and she’d recovered some control over her breathing, she followed him. Unsure of what to say, other than asking what kind of cut he wanted, she silently snapped the collar of the cape at his neck before pulling out her scissors, comb and clippers.

“I hope you’re only using those clippers to clean up my neck.”

She picked up the comb and began working it through his hair. “Sure.”

“Damn, Woman. I’d almost forgotten the sound of your voice.”

The demand that he stop calling her Woman in that degrading and militant tone of his lay heavy on her tongue. She’d always had a problem with overbearing men, though, for once, something had her gritting her teeth instead of giving him the pleasure of getting a rise out of her. 

With his hair combed smooth, she picked up her scissors to begin trimming.

“I like it short.”

She nodded, meeting his gaze briefly in the mirror, but said nothing.

“And she slips back into silence.”

The salon was empty, except for the sound of her snipping blades. Her mind was full, though. Full of the man sitting before her. His scent. His size. The impression of his hair in her hands.

Wet. Cool. Silken. She almost didn’t want to cut off the ends that had begun to curl around his ears. As militant as he was, the unruly look suited him. Not that he needed anything else to add to his appeal.

“Are you pissed that I kissed you, or pissed that I stopped?”

She set the scissors on the counter and then used her clippers to clean up his neck. When she finished, unsnapped the cape and motioned for him to get up, Ryan turned the chair and looked at her. He watched while she swept up his hair and the hair she’d dropped earlier. His gaze moved warm and liquid through her veins until her entire body was a pool of warm arousal, just as she’d felt washing his hair. And when he’d kissed her.

She’d cut his hair. He’d looked at her. What about any of that was arousing?

“It wasn’t the kiss, was it, Carmen?”

Her name on his lips, spoken with the slow pace of Whispering Cove, took her desire up a notch. She wanted to explain, to tell him how much he’d hurt her, but she didn’t want him to know the kind of power he had over her. Ryan Alden was a man who loved power and wouldn’t hesitate to use it to win.

“I think you misunderstood what I meant about non-natives. I was talking about plants.”

She shrugged. He may have meant plants, but he wouldn’t be able to deny he’d thought the theory applied to people—her—as well.

“You can’t ignore me forever. Not if you want any say on how your design is executed. Or if you want the 3-D figures to look right.”

She headed toward the door to unlock it for him, not caring about payment. She only cared about getting distance from her awakening desires.

He rested his hand on hers over the door and looked down to meet her gaze. Reading him was impossible, other than to know that whatever he felt or thought was intense and heated. Then she remembered the length of his erection that had pressed against the zipper of his pants and her cheeks heated more than his stare.

“Carmen. Let me buy you dinner. We can talk about the gazebo project.”

The words about to come out of her mouth were unwise, quite possibly the most unwise thing she’d ever said, but she took the leap. “I don’t want people to know I’m involved with that.”

“People are going to know.”

“Eventually.” With as much thought and effort as she’d put into the design, she wanted to see it executed. She wanted to help even if that meant working with Ryan and playing into Byron’s matchmaking hands. “If we’re going to keep the design a secret, like the council wants, we shouldn’t be discussing it in public.”

Ryan locked his gaze with hers, brushed the tips of his fingers across her knuckles, and spoke quietly. “Are you inviting me to your place, Carmen?”