Tangled Up in Love (31 page)

His movements stilled and he pulled back to look her directly in the eye. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. She’d never been so sure of anything in her life. “I thought I did. Or rather, I thought I would if I ever got the chance. But I don’t want to leave Cleveland if this is where you are, and you were right about my already having a great job. I really do like writing my column for the
Sentinel,
and I’m not sure I want to give that up anytime soon. And now that I’m not so worried about money or my financial future—also thanks to you,” she added with a lopsided grin, “I don’t feel as desperate to move on and do something else. I’d kind of like to stick around and see where life takes me.”

He tugged her close, looping his arms around her waist and locking the black scarf between their two bodies. “Does that include moving in with me?” he asked, his tone low and scratchy with desire.

“Yes,” she answered without thought, without hesitation. She didn’t need to think about it; every cell of her being was standing up and doing a club version of the Snoopy Dance.

“But I’m not agreeing to move into your place until I’ve seen it,” she qualified, poking him in the chest with the tip of her index finger. “I’ve never even been to your apartment. For all I know, it could be crawling with cockroaches and littered with stinky jockstraps.”

“Hey, give me a little credit,” he grumbled, his mouth drawing down in a frown.

“Nope. Not until I’ve checked it out thoroughly. And if it’s unsatisfactory, then you can move in here or we can look for another place that’s big enough for the both of us. Sound good?”

“On one condition.”

His eyes narrowed, a wolfish, predatory glow glinting in the azure depths. A flash of apprehension skittered through her belly, and she knew instinctively that she was in trouble.

Flicking her tongue over her dry lips, she took a shallow breath and braced herself for whatever he might say or do next. “And that would be . . .?”

“We keep this apartment until we’re completely moved into the new one.”

Okay, that hadn’t been even close to what she’d expected to hear.

“Why?” she asked, thoroughly confused.

Tugging the scarf out from between them, he wrapped it around her neck and pulled her close for a long, deep, soul-shattering kiss. She barely noticed when he slid his hands down her arms, dragging the scarf along.

Coming up for air, leaving her gasping like a trout on a hook, he shot her a wicked smile. And that’s when she felt the scarf at her wrists . . . both of which were now angled behind her, held together at the small of her back with the knotted length of soft black yarn.

“So we can do this,” he said, giving the scarf an extra tug to test its security.

“And this.”

He took her mouth again, tasting her, claiming her, ravaging her. By the time he lifted his head, she was putty in his hands, remaining on her feet only because he was holding her up.

His lips continued to dance along her skin, skimming her chin, her nose, the line of cheekbone just under her eye. “And, maybe, a few of the things that got you the name Domiknitrix to begin with.”

A sharp stab of desire washed through her, pulling every muscle in her body into a tight knot of need.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, amazed that she was capable of functional speech at all. “I’m not sure you can handle what earned me that name. There may be whips and chains and the occasional act of submission involved.”

One sandy brown brow shot upward, deepening her urge to knock him to the ground, climb on top of him, and put an end to the ache throbbing between her thighs.

“I can take anything you can dish out, babe,” he responded, and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind he meant what he said.

“Then it sounds like a plan to me.”

A great plan. A phenomenal plan. The best plan ever to be concocted since the beginning of time.

“Good,” he whispered matter-of-factly against her mouth. “We can do the other later, but for now, I’m afraid you’re at
my
mercy.”

Hooking the heel of his foot behind her ankle, he yanked her legs out from under her, toppling her gently to her back on the couch. Following her down, he proceeded to slowly,
agonizingly
strip her of her Bobby Jack pajamas and give her a prelude to what was to come now that they’d given up hating each other and were going to take a stab at loving each other instead.

Mmmm.
She suspected she was going to thoroughly enjoy working
with
Dylan rather than against him for a change.

She was going to like it
a lot
.

When Ronnie arrived at The Yarn Barn that Wednesday for the weekly knitting meeting, she was smiling from ear to ear. The same as she had been ever since Dylan showed up at her apartment and admitted that he wanted to work on building a future with her.

Neither of them had actually come out and said
I love you
yet, but they used the L-word in other ways that led her to believe the real thing was probably lurking just around the corner.

He often told her he loved her eyes, her mouth, her body . . . loved making love with her, loved her column, loved her sense of humor. And though it hadn’t been easy for her at first, she’d begun to return similar sentiments of her own.

It was getting easier, too, and the more time she spent with him, the more she found to admire and fall in love with.

He made her smile and laugh more than anyone else she’d ever met.

He rocked her world in the bedroom like she’d never imagined was even possible.

But more than that, he supported her in everything she did.

Though he was giving up his job at the
Cleveland Herald,
she had decided to stay at the
Sentinel
. She’d not only decided to stay but was taking a renewed, energized interest in her job, brainstorming ideas for making her column even bigger and better and more exciting.

Since she no longer had the ongoing battle of the sexes between their two columns to fall back on, she needed something fresh and new to grab readers’ attention and give them a reason to seek out her section of the paper each week. And almost every night, Dylan happily lay awake with her, letting her bounce ideas off him, and throwing in a few of his own.

She had a nice, long list started, and had already typed up a handful of columns to use in the future. Sometimes she got so jazzed about them, her fingers couldn’t move over the keyboard fast enough to keep up with the words rattling around in her brain.

For the first time in a
long
time, her life seemed to be perfectly on track and running smoothly. She was happy in her career, and happy for the changes taking place in Dylan’s career, even if she would miss him those times he was on the road.

Things with her family had never been better. She’d spoken with each of her brothers and sisters, and in some cases her brothers- and sisters-in-law and a few nieces and nephews, as well. She’d called her parents, too, and a big family get-together was planned for the holidays. She’d even offered to cook the bird, which was only now beginning to scare the turkey feathers out of her.

But it was her previously nonexistent love life that put the skip in her step and had her grinning like an idiot.
The Ice Queen, as she was apparently known within certain circles—Zack was
so
going to get a kick to the kneecap for that one the next time she saw him—was definitely well on the way to melting into a puddle of warm and slippery goo.

She wondered if her friends would notice. As much as she’d wanted to, she’d resisted the urge to call them two seconds after Dylan had untied her wrists and she’d regained consciousness. She’d wanted a bit of time alone with him first, to get used to the idea that they were a couple now, and to enjoy his extremely determined, single-minded devotion to her pleasure.

Her heels clicked as she sauntered down the main aisle of the store to the meeting area in the back. Everyone else was seated already, knitting out and conversations going full-force.

They all glanced up as she approached and she greeted them with a smile that almost turned into a giggle before she tamped down the growing need to spill her guts.

Setting her purse and knitting tote on the seat of her chair, she carefully unwound the soft black scarf Dylan had given her from around her neck. She loved it, wore it everywhere, and was only sorry that soon enough the weather would turn warm again and she’d be forced to tuck it away with the rest of her winter wardrobe. Unless she could somehow find a way to make scarves in summer a hot new fashion statement.

Or maybe she could convince Dylan to knit her a tank top or a pair of hot pants to get her through the off season.

“You look awfully chipper tonight,” Grace said in her usual blunt-as-a-razor manner.

Half a dozen gazes swung to Ronnie and latched on. For a second, she tried to look serious, but she didn’t have enough guile left at the moment to pull it off.

Letting her joy shine through, she took a seat between Jenna and Grace and pulled out her yarn and needles.

“Yes, so?” she replied primly, avoiding her friends’ stares.

“So . . .,”
Grace dragged out. “What’s going on? Spill.”

Feigning nonchalance, Ronnie murmured, “Oh, nothing much. Just that I’ve decided to pass on the job in Chicago and move in with Dylan instead.”

The gasps and shrieks that met her announcement were earsplitting, and she finally gave in to the laughter bubbling in her throat.

“Dylan Stone?”
Melanie all but squawked, eyes nearly bugging out of her head. “The ‘ignorant, arrogant Jackass’? The one you once said you’d rather have a flesh-eating bacteria on your hoo-ha than be anywhere near?
That
Dylan?”

Ronnie flushed what she was sure was a bright crimson. She had a feeling a lot of the things that she’d said about Dylan in the past were going to come back to bite her in the ass.

And knowing her friends, they would take great glee in reminding her of them all, then bringing them up again and again and again and again . . . just to make sure she learned her lesson and ate a fair amount of crow.

But she was okay with it. Considering the current set of circumstances and how happy she was with how things had turned out, a little abject humiliation was a small price to pay.

“Yes,” she said somewhat sheepishly, “that Dylan.”

Still having trouble assimilating Ronnie’s announcement, Melanie asked, “When in God’s name did this happen?”

Which was the perfect opening for Grace to lavishly rehash the last several weeks of Ronnie’s life. The knitting challenge turning into private knitting lessons . . . the private knitting lessons turning into hot, window-fogging, wall-climbing, howl-like-a-banshee sex . . . and finally the new job offer forcing her to reassess her career goals and feelings for a man who was supposed to be her sworn enemy.

But that was as much as Grace knew, so all eyes turned back to Ronnie.

Setting aside her knitting—since it was obvious no one would be getting much work done at tonight’s meeting—she crossed her leg and let one of her fire-engine-red sling-backs dangle from the tips of her toes. Taking her time, and trying not to let her happiness tangle her words, she filled them all in on everything that had happened in the past week, from Dylan winning the knitting challenge to the moment he’d declared his undying lust for her.

She skipped the part where he’d tied her hands behind her back and showed her the meanings of the words
oh, dear God, harder, faster, yes, yes,
but from the sparkle in her closest friends’ eyes and the sly expressions on the others’ faces, everyone was already picturing how she and Dylan had celebrated their new-found fondness for each other.

Jenna reached across the arms of their chairs and gave her knee a squeeze. “I’m so happy for you, Ronnie. I knew you and Dylan would get along if you just
took the time to get to know each other better. And I’m
really
glad you decided not to take that job in Chicago. I would have missed you too much if you’d moved that far away.”

Murmurs of agreement followed Jenna’s heartfelt speech. She thanked them all, letting her gaze move around the circle of friends until she spotted Charlotte’s bright orange mop of hair.

The older woman’s mouth, painted bubblegum pink with a lipstick that was
so
not her color, was pulled into a peculiar moue. Ronnie realized she hadn’t heard a word from Charlotte, and she was the only one still studiously knitting, her needles clacking away as though nothing unusual was taking place.

And maybe as far as Charlotte was concerned, there wasn’t. Just because Ronnie’s life had been turned upside down—in the very best ways possible—didn’t mean Charlotte had to care.

“What do you think, Charlotte?” she asked pointedly. “Am I making a mistake by turning down a job I thought I’d always wanted and agreeing to move in with a man I’ve always purported to hate?”

And if that wasn’t an invitation to brutal honesty, she didn’t know what was. She only hoped she could handle whatever response the older woman chose to give her.

“Oh, I think it’s wonderful, dear. It’s lovely that you and your young man have finally learned to talk out your differences instead of harping at each other through your newspaper columns.”

The words were pleasant enough, sounded sincere enough, but the odd light in her eyes and strange twist of her lips never altered. Ronnie didn’t know whether to be
relieved or offended. She’d expected more from Charlotte, she guessed. A bigger, more exuberant, Charlotte-like reaction; something to go with the bright orange hair and mismatched polyester ensembles.

But then the others started chiming in again, distracting her and demanding more details about her time with Dylan. The PG- to R-rated version, anyway.

The hour passed quickly, and just as Ronnie had predicted, no one—save the unusually focused Charlotte—got much knitting done. They didn’t seem to mind, though. They were women first, knitters second, and a good piece of gossip trumped the chance to make progress on a current project or share new patterns any day.