In Bed with Mr. Wrong (9 page)

Bri folded her hands in front of her, feeling the ridiculous need to apologize for
misjudging him, at least on one level. “It’s a funny story. People enjoy telling it.”

“It was a long time ago. When most people talk about the Flannerys, they’re thinking
of how great Drew turned out, being sheriff and all. I’m just the kid who burned down
the damn school, even though I’ve accomplished a whole hell of a lot since then.”
He opened the fridge and poked around in the fruit crisper drawer. “Jesus.”

She peered over and couldn’t stop a laugh from escaping. “What in God’s name would
possess them to put condoms in
there
?”

“I can’t decide if they thought we were actually going to have enough sex to justify
what is obviously a Costco-sized box of condoms, or if they’re just fucking with us.”
He pulled the condom packet out of the fridge and tossed it onto the counter farthest
from her.

“It may very well be a combination of both.”

“Good point.” He pulled out a carton of berries and milk. “As to why I went with the
Air Force, specifically, I picked the PJs because my uncle was one.”

She tilted her head to the side. “PJs? Is that the abbreviation for pararescuer?”

“Yeah. I used to beg him to tell me stories about the people he’d rescued.” He paused
to look at her. “Something he said always stuck with me—it’s a whole lot harder to
save a man’s life than it is to pull a trigger and end it. Though apparently my dad
didn’t get that memo.”

Hearing his reasons sent a pang through her, a pang that only got worse when she realized
what the last comment must mean. She couldn’t bring herself to ask if his dad had
taken a gun to himself. Ryan hadn’t had a perfect upbringing any more than she had.
A sense of kinship welled up inside her, snuffing out the last smidgen of irritation
from the egg incident. “Your dad...”

“He killed himself a few years after I graduated.” He turned away. “I’ve never regretted
leaving, even considering that, because joining the PJs was the best thing to ever
happened to me.”

“You’re a hero.” More so than any man in her romance novels because he was
real
.

“I serve my country, same as any other soldier.”

Ryan took a package of brown sugar out of the cupboard and set it next to the stuff
in front of her. “What about you? How did you end up in sleepy Wellingford? You’re
from California, right?”

Though she didn’t particularly want to talk about herself, this seemed a safe enough
subject. “I researched small towns with openings—or soon-to-be openings—within their
library on the East Coast, and Wellingford was the top of that list. I didn’t expect
Mrs. Cleaver to retire quite so quickly, but things just sort of worked out.”

“It has to be hard to live so far away from your family.”

She stared at her nails. “I don’t have any.”

He must have picked up on her reluctance to go deeper into the subject, because he
didn’t push the issue. “So you did the equivalent of throwing a dart at one end of
the map, then up and moved? That’s pretty spontaneous.”

If he had any idea what she would have done to get out of Los Angeles, he wouldn’t
have thought so. Even though she knew it wasn’t the city’s fault her parents died
in that car crash, she couldn’t help hating it. Wellingford was something fresh and
new and untainted by her past. “I suppose, though it didn’t feel like that at the
time.” She took the offered bowl of oatmeal and dosed it with milk and brown sugar.
The first bite nearly made her eyes roll back in her head. “Every time I’ve tried
to make oatmeal from scratch, I always end up with mush. This is so much better than
mush.”

He laughed. “Practice and self-preservation.”

“Thank you.”
Thank you for cooking for me. Thank you for sharing a little bit of your past. Thank
you for listening to a sliver of mine and not pressing for more.

The peace between them lasted the rest of the fifteen minutes it took for them to
eat the entire pot of oatmeal. For all the anxiety still swirling inside of her, the
silence was…comfortable. Maybe they’d reached some sort of common ground?

Ryan stood and reached for her bowl.

Bri held on when he tried to pull away. “What are you doing?”

Ryan gave it another yank, a familiar frown settling over his face. “The dishes.”

“Absolutely not. You cooked. I can do the dishes.”

“It’s fine. I’ll take care of them.” He tugged on the bowl.

Apparently now that sharing time was over, he was back to making her feel completely
inadequate. She tugged back harder, not even sure why she was bothering. She hated
the dishes. They were one of those necessary evils that marrying a billionaire reformed
playboy would solve. Not that she’d know what to do with one if she met him. “I said
I’d do the dishes, and I will.”

“You’re just arguing to argue. Again. Knock it off.”

“
You
knock it off.”

“Just let it go, Bri. With your luck, you’ll probably find a knife to cut yourself
on.”

She was so surprised, she let go of the bowl. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Considering how well things went this morning, I believe it’s pretty self-explanatory.”

When she’d fantasized about meeting her very own alpha male, she hadn’t stopped to
consider that they were giant pains in the backside. Not that Ryan was hers, but the
same principle applied. The women in her books never seemed to have problems like
the ones she kept coming across. “I’m not some damsel in distress who needs to be
saved.”

He gave her a look like she was stupid. “I didn’t say that. You’re a grown-up. I’m
sure you manage to get dressed each morning, pay your bills, and show up to your job
on time. What you can’t do is be left unsupervised in a kitchen.”

“Says the man who can’t be trusted near an open flame.”

Jaw clenched, he dumped the rest of the dishes in the sink and turned on the faucet.
“If you want to keep me away from anything flammable, go grab some more firewood from
the lean-to so we don’t have to cling to each other to keep warm.”

“I’d rather freeze to death than touch you again.”

“You’ve said that before.” He didn’t even look at her. “Good thing I chopped a shitload
of firewood, huh?”

Bri stomped back to the bedroom to look for her boots, because the alternative was
to grab one of the cast-iron pans and try to pound some sense into his thick head.
She slammed out of the back door, not sure what she was so angry about, only that
it was Ryan’s fault.

Everything was his fault.

If he’d just been some nice guy—like Drew and Avery claimed—then she could have smiled
politely through their interactions up to this point and gone on her way. Even being
stuck in this cabin with a nice guy wouldn’t be so terrible. But no, from the moment
he’d shown up at her door looking like temptation personified, he’d proceeded to push
her buttons, then turn around and shake her world to its foundations by making her
feel things she never could have anticipated.

As if that wasn’t bad enough—and it was plenty bad—he’d gone and changed the game.
How was she supposed to keep her distance if he insisted on showing her glimpses of
a childhood not so far off her own? Hadn’t she run from LA like the hounds of hell
were chasing her? The similarities weren’t comfortable.

Nor was the idea of keeping her hands off of him.

Instead of clearing her mind, the cold air made her more acutely aware of her body.
Her stupid nipples hardened, which only made her think of how good it felt when Ryan
put his mouth on them. “Stop it.”

Wonderful. Now she was talking to herself. She shouldered through the back door and
stalked across the room to dump the firewood in the metal holder. Her ire lasted only
as long as it took her to turn around and catch a glimpse of Ryan washing the dishes
with the same single-minded intensity he had when his hands were on her body.

Heat chased the cold from her skin and left a flush in its wake. Oh, this wasn’t good.
If she stood here much longer, she was going to end up walking over there and seeing
just how serious he was about holding out on her.

Chapter Twelve

Ryan finished washing and drying the dishes and moved on to cleaning the rest of the
kitchen. It didn’t really need the scrub-down, but he needed something, anything,
to keep himself away from Bri. Though she seemed ready to go toe-to-toe with him again,
his goals had changed with their conversation.

While he cooked the oatmeal, he’d gotten a glimpse of the side of Bri that sparked
his curiosity in a huge way. She’d be easy to write off if she didn’t show him those
flashes of vulnerability and sweetness. More than that, the way she shied from talking
about her past only intrigued him more. There were shadows there, and he wanted to
find out exactly what had brought her to Wellingford.

Hell, he wanted to know
everything
.

It didn’t help that she was wrapped around her book on the couch, absently running
her fingers through the ends of her hair. She was totally lost to reality, and he
had a few ideas on how to bring her back. None of which he could implement, because
he was supposed to be talking with her—not yanking off her clothes and kissing every
inch of her body. She looked so damn comfortable he was tempted to curl up next to
her, which was exactly the wrong thing to do if he was intent on keeping his hands
to himself.

He built up the fire, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She didn’t look up,
not even to throw out a comment about him burning something down. Disappointment flared,
followed by the realization… Holy shit, he actually
enjoyed
bickering with her.

Ryan sat back on his heels and gave her his full attention. She didn’t so much as
twitch. That must be one hell of a book if she was able to ignore him—and the opportunity
to rib him—so completely. Though common sense said he should just let it be, he couldn’t
sit here and let her ignore him. And the temptation to see if he could provoke her,
just a little, was too much to resist.

He dropped onto the sofa across from her. “What are you reading?”

“A book.”

He could already see her checking out on him, her attention sliding back to the words
on the page in front of her. An idea took root, slipping out of his mouth before he
had a chance to think better of it. “Read it to me.”

That
got her attention. She actually tore her gaze from the book and frowned at him. “What?”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but this place doesn’t have much in the way of entertainment.
So entertain me.”

“I’m not a performing monkey.”

“Never said you were.” He held up his hands. Bickering was one thing, but an actual
argument would only end with them right back where they started. “Throw me a bone,
here. I’m about to go out of my mind.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes since we had breakfast. You can’t possibly be that bored
already.”

Maybe not, but he was having a hard time remembering why he wasn’t supposed to seduce
her when Bri sat there, all comfortable and kissable. “Come on, Bri. Please.”

She sighed. “It’s a romance. You aren’t going to be interested.”

“On the contrary—there’s nothing like an intriguing romance. Is it good?”

“You’re really interested?” She looked at him over the top of her glasses. He didn’t
think now was the time to tell her that her doing
that
sent a bolt of desire through him so strongly, he almost scrapped his resolve and
closed the distance between them.
No
. Jumping back into having sex would accomplish even less than fighting. He gave his
best sincere look. “Yep.”

“If you promise to refrain from commentary, then I will.”

“I’ll be as silent as Mr. Smith.”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “He’s a wonderful listener.”

“I’ll be just as good. I promise.” God, he hoped this wasn’t one of those bodice-rippers.
His buddy’s wife was into those, and James was known to bitch about them from time
to time. Then again, he did it with a grin on his face, so Ryan didn’t think he minded
all that much. “So what’s the setup?”

“The hero is a duke who’s trying to find the group of people who killed his little
sister. The heroine grew up on the streets in his city and has had to do some pretty
terrible stuff to keep herself alive. They met when she sneaked into his room to steal
this pendant he has so she can pay to free
her
sister, who’s been taken captive by a rival group. They are just about to get married
to solve both their problems.”

Well, hell. His head was already spinning. He eyed the book. She wasn’t more than
a quarter of the way through—he could catch up. “Got it.”

“Okay, then. Here goes.” She took another deep breath, as if steeling herself. “Dmitri
knew he couldn’t trust Savannah, knew it right down into the depths of his soul, but
he was unable to walk away…”

Ryan knew exactly how this dude felt.

…

Bri got lost in the turning of the pages and the unfolding of the relationship between
Dmitri and Savannah. She did a Story Time session several times a week, so it felt
perfectly natural to read aloud, even if she was reading romance to Ryan and not a
picture book to a group of prekindergartners.

She was so caught up in the conflict that she was two pages into a sex scene before
she realized what had happened. Oh hell. She tried to ignore the flaming of her face
and carefully set her bookmark between the pages and shut the book. “I think that’s
enough for now.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. You were just getting to the good part.” At some point, he’d
stretched out over the couch, making himself at home like he was some kind of sexy
cat.

Sexy
cat
? Obviously the book had gone to her head, because she couldn’t help but think that
he’d make an excellent shifter, though he’d probably be more wolf than one of the
cat family. She wished she could blame the heat pulsing between her legs and through
her body on the story she’d read, but it’d be far from the truth.

It was Ryan.

He was all barely contained strength and sex appeal. She wasn’t immune by a long shot.
Though, if she was perfectly honest, she hadn’t tried very hard to ignore his appeal.
She shifted under his gaze, wanting to tell him to look away, but that’d mean admitting
how much he affected her. “My throat hurts from talking so much.”

It was a dirty lie, but she didn’t think she could handle reading a sex scene while
he sat there and watched her. Not to mention Jenny Ellis was known for her explicit
language, which was fine when reading alone in the privacy of her own home, but this
was hardly that.

Worse still, if she kept reading, he’d
know
what was happening.

He gave her a lazy grin. “Come on, Bri. I want to know how Dmitri is finally going
to talk Savannah out of her panties.”

“It’s not a game for him. He cares about her.” Or he would, after they’d been sleeping
together for some time and then she ran, which would make him realize exactly how
much he loved her.

“Honey, I’d think he more than cares about her.” He pushed to his feet and stretched
his arms over his head, making his shirt ride up to reveal a slice of tanned stomach.
She was so distracted by the sight that he was nearly on top of her before she realized
he’d moved.

“What are you doing?”

“Pass it over.”

Surely he wasn’t suggesting what she was afraid of? In case she was right, Bri slid
sideways until she could tuck the book under a pillow. “Pass what over?”

“The book. If your throat hurts, then I’ll read the rest. It’s my turn anyway.”

If there was anything worse than reading this scene to him, it was having
him
read it to
her
. How was she supposed to focus on the story when it was
his
deep voice spelling out all the naughty things Dmitri was doing to Savannah?

Bri met his gaze and understood that he fully expected her to run. Her pride reared
its head, demanding she hold her ground. She passed him the book. “Whatever you say.”

“Smart girl.” He winked and then strode into the kitchen.

What the heck? “What are you doing?”

Ryan gave her a look. “You said your throat hurt. Tea will help with that. Besides,
it’s been a while since breakfast. I’m starving, so you have to at least be a little
hungry.”

He was taking care of her? She sat there, trying to reconcile this man with the one
who had pushed her buttons since the moment they met. Yes, he’d made her food and
taken the dishes
.
Then there was the way he’d used his hand on the small of her back the night of their
date, and how he’d followed her out of Avery’s party after she bolted. Not to mention
the firewood and chili and letting her sleep in the bed…

Oh my God. He’s been
trying to take care of me all along
.

Since she didn’t know how to deal with that, she accepted the mug with a murmured
“Thanks” and decided it was wiser to stay silent. She could get used to watching Ryan
in the kitchen. He put together three sandwiches, cut them in half, and arranged them
on two plates.

“Are chips okay?”

The strange feeling inside her intensified. The fact that he had her all out of sorts
over a simple question about chips only went on to demonstrate how pathetic her history
was. “Yes.”

“Good.” He came over and set a plate on the coffee table in front of her before retreating
to his couch and systematically devouring his sandwiches. Ryan ate with the kind of
single-mindedness of someone who’d gone hungry before enough times to know when to
appreciate the presence of food.

She understood. His father had been pretty freaking neglectful if Ryan was forced
to learn to cook to fend for himself. Even growing up with Drew, his basic needs hadn’t
been met any more than hers had.

“Are you going to eat?”

Bri jumped, realizing she’d been staring at him so long he’d finished his food. “Yes.
Thank you.”

“So polite when you want to be.” He smiled. “Do you need more tea?”

It’d only now cooled down to an acceptable drinking temperature. “I think I’m okay.”

After one last look at her, he leaned back and propped his feet on the arm of the
couch. Ryan opened the book and draped the brown-and-pink ribboned bookmark over the
pillow next to him. Seeing feminine things like ribbons in his wide hands was ridiculous.
And absolutely adorable. “Where were we? Oh yes, Dmitri has Savannah pressed against
the wall, bracketed by his arms. Does that sound familiar?”

She glanced over sharply, but he didn’t seem to be insinuating anything. Which meant
comparing this scene to the one that had played out in the hallway last night rested
solely on her shoulders. She brought her knees to her chest, suddenly not nearly as
hungry as she’d thought. It didn’t matter who was reading it or what the character’s
history was—this book was just fiction.

“Dmitri leaned in until his lips rested against her throat. It should have been terrifying
having this massive man so close, and there was a healthy dose of fear running through
Savannah, but desire beat a steady drum, a siren call she wasn’t sure he could resist.

“‘Tell me. Tell me what you want.’

“‘You. All of you.’ Everything he had.

“His hands ran down her shoulders to cup her hips. A deft move and her dress was up
around her thighs, baring her for his pleasure.”

Bri froze with her cup halfway to her lips. God, they weren’t even to the truly dirty
parts and she was already having difficulty breathing. Ryan’s voice woke all sorts
of longings she didn’t know what to do with. No, that wasn’t true. The problem was
she knew all too well what to do with them.

“Is there something wrong?”

She jumped, nearly spilling tea all down her front. “Not in the least.”

“Really? You’re not even remotely turned on by this?”

This was exactly what she’d been afraid of when he took the book from her. She took
another drink of tea to buy herself time, hoping it would cover up the tremor in her
voice. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I am.” He lifted the book, drawing her gaze south to where his level of desire
was all too evident.

“But they haven’t even done anything yet. He’s barely touched her.” Why was she arguing
this? What did it matter if he was turned on as a result of something practically
PG?

Ryan folded the corner of the page, raising his eyebrows when she made a protesting
noise at his treatment of the book. “Want to know why I’m turned on?”

Even though she knew better, she nodded.

“It’s because I’m picturing us in that position and I’m remembering how good you smell,
and how things progressed from there, which has turned to thinking about how damn
amazing your mouth feels around my cock.”

Oh God. Bri jumped to her feet, sending her tea mug flying. She spun on her heel,
nearly tripped over the corner of the coffee table. That slowed her down enough to
realize that she was letting him win by running away. The realization didn’t kill
the urge, but she was able to stop moving and turn to face him. “You’re not nearly
funny as you think you are.”

“Honey, I’m as serious as a heart attack.”

He was messing with her, just like he had been from the beginning. He had to be. But
she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “But you think I’m mousy.” Even as the words
came out of her mouth, she cursed herself for giving him that much.

Ryan set the book down and pushed to his feet. He actually seemed pained as he skirted
the edge of the coffee table and came to stand before her. “I swear to God, Bri, I’m
sorry that I ever said that. You’re the furthest thing from mousy.”