The Three Fates of Ryan Love (17 page)

She quit talking and turned away. Minutes passed before she felt Ryan's gaze on her again. She ignored him.

“I said something,” he murmured at last. “Before, too.”

She shook her head, horrified by the lump that seemed lodged in her throat. Afraid if it moved it would release the burning tears that pressed against her eyes. She was going to cry. How had that happened?

“Yes, I did,” he said. “What was it?”

She squared her shoulders, the way she'd seen Ryan do a hundred times over. She'd just never grasped what it said, that small gesture.

Ryan glanced at the road and back again, his stare direct and burning. She saw it from her periphery but didn't face it. His body heat reached her across the short distance that separated them. He covered her hand with his again. She didn't push him away but she still didn't look at him.

“It's because I said you're on the outside.”

“Of course I'm on the outside. I don't belong in your world.”

Ryan squeezed her fingers gently. “You feel like you belong.”

Her breath caught, stung. “Don't laugh at me.”

“I'm not laughing.”

“You're playing a game,” she said. “I may not grasp the finer points of it, but I know when I'm entertaining you.”

She couldn't help it. She glanced at him. His eyes were solemn as he split his attention between the road and Sabelle, seeing everything she wanted to hide.

“You didn't just come here to right a wrong or to save me, did you?” he asked, the question so perceptive that it filled her with fear. “You came looking for something for yourself.”

The observation hit a bull's-eye inside her. How she hid it, she'd never know.

She held her breath as danger signs flashed in her head. It took more composure than she thought she possessed to respond. He was right, of course. She'd come looking for a life she had no business wanting.

“You're wrong, but it doesn't matter. You've done what you said you would. You brought me here. Once we find who I'm looking for, you can leave me and be on your way. I'll make sure I don't intrude in your life again.”

Minutes passed in brittle silence before finally Ryan mumbled a soft curse. “You think I'm just going to drop you off and drive away?”

“You'll have fulfilled your promise. I don't think it would be wise to go home, though. Maybe you should think about taking a trip somewhere, keep moving—”

“Dammit, Sabelle. Stop. Just stop.”

She crossed her arms and went back to looking out the window. Ryan sighed heavily. “We're almost to Sedona. I think we need to get out of the car, stretch our legs.” He gave her a searching glance. “Cool down. Get something to eat.”

As if in answer her stomach gave a long, loud growl. She nodded in concession. Cooling down seemed a good idea. Ryan had started a flame inside her from the first touch. If she didn't find a way to bank it, she would turn to ash.

T
hey came upon the red rocks like a mirage they'd chased across a desert. The brilliant moonlight muted the vibrant colors she'd seen in the pictures, but night added a beauty of its own. Graduated shades and midnight silhouettes layered depth over the black-and-white world, and the shifting shadows gave it movement and life. Sabelle stared out the window, transfixed. Nothing in the Beyond could compare to this. She tried to absorb every detail and nuance, but she knew memory would never come close to the vista her eyes beheld.

“There's a little place up ahead we can get some grub,” Ryan said.

They were the first words spoken in miles and they had a tone of truce that sounded sincere, but Sabelle felt too vulnerable to answer it.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“I'm always hungry,” she muttered.

Brandy raised her head and gave a soft woof.

“I'll bring you something, too,” Ryan told her indulgently.

They exited the highway and drove for some time before finally slowing at a stop sign. An overhead light illuminated the interior of the car, throwing his features into stark relief. He still had bruising on his face and cuts from the explosions, layered now with fresh ones from his fight with Officer Wiesel. His hair took on a mahogany glow in the dark and his eyes look liked jewels. The first shadow of a beard covered his jaw and strain tightened his expression.

She'd never seen a more beautiful man.

Ryan pulled into the parking lot of the Red Rock Café, stopped the car, and got out, clicking his tongue for Brandy. Sabelle got out, too, stiff from her rigid posture and anger. The dog bounded from the backseat and Ryan walked her over to a grassy patch that bordered the parking lot so she could do her business. When they returned, he told Brandy to be good and he'd bring her something. Brandy climbed into the seat Ryan had vacated and rested a paw on the steering wheel as if to say,
Go ahead, Dad. I got it covered.

He cracked the window, shut the door, and hit a button on his fob to make them lock. Then he faced Sabelle, his expression dark, still pensive. She felt exposed standing beneath the overhead lights, her emotions churning and raw.

He prowled closer, his gaze moving over her face, then down to the swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist and flare of her hips. It felt as if he touched her. It made her wish he would.

Without a word, he reached for the open sides of her coat and pulled her to him. His kiss stole her breath, but Sabelle didn't need to breathe. She only needed the feel of his hard body standing between her and the aching loneliness that would be her life again once she returned to the Beyond.

He parted her lips with sensuous skill and kissed her like it was the most important thing he could do. For her, it was. Her hands rested on his hips, fingers curling into his belt loops as she tried to pull him closer. He was hard, masculine in every way, and she wanted him. Desperately. But he'd hurt her, and she couldn't pretend otherwise.

“I'm sorry,” he said at last. “I'm still figuring out what to do with you.”

He wouldn't have to figure it out. She'd be gone soon.

As if he'd heard, his next kiss was punishing, but Sabelle met it gladly. Her arms went around his neck and she came up on tiptoe. She kissed him with all the longing locked deep inside her, wanting him to feel it, too. Passion raged through her, so fierce it singed her nerves and sharpened her wits. Need so endless that she thought she might die of it followed in its wake. Her days were numbered and he kept pushing away only to tow her back. Perhaps it was vain or selfish, but she wanted him to be sorry when she was gone. She wanted him to think about this moment and wonder what he should have done differently. She wanted him to
miss
her.

His hands were in her hair now, his kisses a drug that chased her thoughts away. She forgot everything but the feel of him. Where they were, where they were going . . . why. His hot breath mixed with hers, as dark as midnight, as fresh as dawn. He licked her bottom lip and caught it gently between his teeth.

“I want to take that new bra off,” he said against her mouth.

“I'd be disappointed if you didn't.”

His laugh held surprise and hot desire. But in his eyes, she saw conflict. He wanted her as urgently as she wanted him; he didn't want to want her at all.

He held her there, his eyes locked with hers. A million messages passed between them in the current of that exchange. She understood only one. This thing between them would not die willingly.

Silently, he turned her palm against his and led her inside. A lone waitress wiping a table inside the café looked up when they entered, eyeing Ryan's bruised face and broad shoulders with interest. Her gaze flicked to Sabelle with an assessing gleam and lingered on her cheek before moving back to Ryan, where it stayed.

“You closing up?” he asked.

“In a few. Jeff hasn't turned off the fryers yet and we still need to clean up. We can make you the special easy enough.”

“Sold.” Ryan held up two fingers and flashed his smile before they took a seat. A television was in the corner above a booth. He pointed at it. “Mind if I turn on the news?”

She laughed. “You can try but it hasn't worked in about four months. Owner keeps saying he's going to get a new one but hasn't bothered yet.”

“Well, how about a couple cups of coffee, then, if it's not any trouble?”

“That I can do,” the waitress said. “I'll make some fresh.”

Another smile from Ryan had the waitress scurrying to do his bidding. Sabelle didn't blame her. She'd been struck dumb by it before herself.

“What's the special?” Sabelle asked when the waitress was gone.

“Does it matter? They're serving and we're hungry.”

When the waitress brought their coffee, Ryan cajoled an order of scrambled eggs out of her for Brandy and the last piece of pumpkin pie she said was in the fridge.

A few minutes later she returned with two plates of something savory and covered in gravy, the slice of pie, and a to-go box with Brandy's eggs.

“I put a couple pieces of bacon in, too,” she said, blushing to her roots at Ryan's deep “Thank you” before she disappeared into the kitchen.

Ryan dug into his food and so did Sabelle. Whatever was beneath the gravy tasted amazing. Crunchy, hot, and filled with flavor. She didn't bother asking him to identify it. She didn't really care as long as it warmed her belly and gave her lagging energy a boost. Ryan cleared his plate and sat back. Sabelle finished hers a few bites later and did the same.

“They put something in that gravy,” he said, running his finger along the edge of his plate and tasting it. “I can't tell if it's chili powder or cayenne pepper. It's good. Did you like it?”

She looked at her empty plate. “No.”

He laughed and the deep rumble filled her with pleasure. Just like that, the strain eased behind her breastbone and the hurt faded. Sabelle was happy to pretend their argument had been nothing more than a lovers' quarrel. Pretend the next stop for them wasn't one that ended in good-bye. Pretend she was a real woman and Ryan the man who'd stolen her heart.

Well, there wasn't a lot of pretend in the last. That part was painfully true.

He reached for the pie, cut a bite with the edge of his fork, and held it in front of her.

“I'm going to explode if I eat any more.”

“But this is pumpkin pie,” he said. “Homemade.”

“How do you know?”

“Look at the crust. Better yet, taste it.”

“You like to feed me, don't you?” she said, her voice all soft and husky.

“I do.”

“Why?”

His smile had a wicked slant and his eyes spoke of things she wanted, even when they confused and scared her.

“You gonna try it?” he asked, reaching across the table so the fork was near her lips.

“Sometimes it feels like you're talking about two things at once,” she said, looking at him. “I'm never sure which one I'm answering.”

“Which one do you want to answer?”

The one that made him touch her again.

It was safer to open her mouth than respond to that loaded question. Ryan slid his fork in. Her lips closed around it and slowly he pulled it out. The moment was charged, sexual. He watched her with so much intensity that she felt it in places he couldn't even see. He took the next bite, his lips on the same fork, her gaze fixed on his mouth. Another bite for her, alternating until the pie was finished. Her pants felt tight and her stomach so full it would be hard to move. And yet beneath her skin she felt hot and empty, needing something more than food to satisfy her. The air between them was so dense she struggled to breathe it in.

He pushed the plate away and leaned back. Sabelle felt a compulsive urge to fill the silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You don't usually ask first,” he said, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup. “Makes me think I should say no.”

“Why did you refuse to cook at Love's? I always assumed you hated it.”

“Was there anywhere you didn't stalk me?”

“You seemed to enjoy cooking—when you allowed yourself to do it, that is,” she went on, ignoring him. “But never at Love's.”

His jaw tightened and she knew she'd hit another nerve, but he gave a casual shrug and took a drink from his mug. Still the tension radiated off him, and for a moment she regretted that she'd destroyed the easy camaraderie they'd shared. But she'd always wondered. When he was younger, his father had made him work in the kitchen, but as soon as he could, Ryan had moved to the bar and never gone back. His brother, Reece, had become the cook after that. Reece had hated every second he'd spent there and made no secret of it.

Ryan put his finger on the bowl of his spoon and spun it. A moment ago she'd wished those perceptive eyes would look another way; now she longed to see what lurked in their depths.

“There was never time,” he said finally.

“Someone I know would call that a big fat lie.”

That drew a startled glance, but she couldn't read what she saw in his eyes before he looked away again.

“My dad used to say the only way to have spice in your life was to cook with it,” he told her. “And then he refused to change anything on the menu so we could. We just kept serving up the same bland slop. I couldn't stand it.”

“After he died, you could have changed it.”

He pushed the spoon away and leaned back against the booth. From squared shoulders to hard jaw, resentment still held him in its grip.

“Why do you care?” he asked.

“You're the only one who can ask questions? I'm just trying to understand you.”

“I'm not that complicated.”

That made her smile and his hooded gaze shifted to her mouth. She fought the urge to lick her lips for as long as she could but it was inevitable, that small gesture that revealed so much. She felt him focus on it, stoking her longing with his beautiful eyes.

She forced herself to look away. “Ryan Love,” she said softly. “You're the most complicated man I've ever known.”

“According to you, I'm the only man.”

“The only one I've known in the flesh.”

His gaze sharpened and her heart raced over that word.
Flesh
. So base. So descriptive. She cleared her throat and glanced out the window at the parking lot.

“I never changed the menu because my dad taught me that if it ain't broke, don't fix it,” he said after a long moment.

“But you thought it
was
broken. Otherwise you would have been happier.”

“Matter of opinion. Customers never complained.”

Since when had Ryan Love based his opinions on those of others?

“Changing it would have made it mine,” he said at last, reluctance in his tone. “It would have felt like giving up on my dream of ever getting out. Now it feels stupid. A fucked-up passive-aggressive stand that only made me miserable.”

He made a disgusted sound and shook his head. “My dad was such an obsessive guy. He hated change.”

“And change is all you ever wanted,” she said softly.

“Funny how the harder we try to be different, the more we're the same.”

He was silent for a long time and then, softly, as if he really didn't want to speak the words but couldn't hold them back, he said, “After the first time the twins almost died—did die for a little while—my dad drilled into me how important they were. I was supposed to be watching them the day they drowned, but I was a teenager and there were a lot of girls around.” He shook his head. “When they pulled their bodies out of the lake and I thought they were dead, I wanted to die, too. Afterward, when they got the twins breathing again, it felt like a second chance. I promised myself I'd never be so careless again with someone I loved.”

He wadded up his paper napkin and tossed it on the table. Sabelle stayed quiet, letting him work through his thoughts.