Trusting Ryan

CHAPTER FOUR

HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN nervous, for many reasons. Any time he’d thought about this moment in his life—and he’d thought of it plenty over the past ten or so years—Ryan had envisioned shaky hands. Some fumbling. Uncertainty born solely of ignorance.

Hesitation, at the very least, as he risked the isolation he’d so carefully concocted and guarded vigilantly.

Audrey’s hands on his shoulders, her moans consuming the air around them, the light flowery scent of her perfume enveloping him, allowed no room for hesitation. Her soft, feminine skin, waiting there for him to find, to expose, to caress, created fire within him, not quivering.

He kissed her, opening her mouth wider with his, exploring her with his tongue in ways that happened naturally, as if of their own accord. With no learned or practiced moves to draw on, he lifted her body gently against him, breaking contact with her lips only briefly, as he carried her to his bed.

He’d be Detective Ryan Mercedes tomorrow. And all of the tomorrows after that.

Tonight he was a man.

He’d made the trek upstairs many times—exhausted and coming off thirty-five hours without sleep, wide awake, early, late, angry, frustrated, enervated, flying up the steps two or three at a time. He’d made it hurt, content, and even drunk once. He’d traversed them alone with a hand truck and solid pine chest of drawers, a bed, his second large-screen television. Tonight he climbed them with no thought of the journey, only of the woman with her arms wrapped around his neck, of getting her to the soft mattress that awaited them so that he could love her properly.

Reverently.

Laying her gently crossways in the middle of the bed, Ryan slid down next to her, covering one of her legs with one of his as he half lay on top of her. He was on fire, needing everything, everywhere, and was compelled to stare at her, instead, to connect, first, through the eyes of her soul, the eyes of her heart and mind, those chocolate-brown windows that gazed back at him with an intensity that matched his own.

“I’ve wanted this since the first moment I saw you.” He confessed what he’d sworn to himself he’d never admit to anyone.

She was his match on a level much deeper than anyone ever had been. But she was independent, too. Surely there was safety in that.

“Have you?” she asked, her voice huskier than usual. The little grin turning up the edges of her mouth made him hard.

Harder.

The bulge in his pants wasn’t a new thing. Its control of him was.

“I have,” he told her, bending to kiss her again, opening his mouth over hers, needing to get as far inside her as he could, to join as much of him to her as was humanly possible.

And beyond.

Audrey’s moan lit another flame in his groin and Ryan rubbed his aching penis against her denim-clad thigh. He felt like a damned animal, rutting against her.

She didn’t seem to mind. Lifting up, Audrey moved back and forth against his chest, pressing her upper body against him until he could clearly distinguish two hard nipples caressing him.

“I like that.” He’d had no idea.

“Me, too.”

“I’d like to see them.” He could only give her honesty.

“Okay.”

Her gaze was open, and shadowed with desire, as she studied him. The rest of her didn’t move.

Which left him one choice. Glancing down at the rounded mounds of her breasts, he lifted her shirt as though he’d had a lot of experience with such things. With one hand and a smooth glide, the white cotton was bunched up beneath her armpits and the lacy, low-cut bra he’d seen only in outline was fully exposed. The soft skin of her breasts spilled over the edges of the flimsy material.

Heart racing, Ryan took his time, savoring the view. His hands itched to cover those breasts, but he couldn’t deny himself the beautiful sight.

“I’ve never seen anything so perfectly gorgeous.” His voice was mostly a whisper. It was all the breath he had to spare.

“You’re pretty gorgeous yourself,” she said. She’d lifted his T-shirt, as well, was staring at his chest.

She touched him, running slim fingers over the muscles in his chest, stroking her thumbs against his nipples. Flickers of sensation moved through him, straight down to his erection.

His nipples had that kind of power? He’d taken one hell of a lot of showers, rubbed them with hundreds of bars of soap, to have missed that one.

Mary Ellen Rowe had spent the six weeks they’d dated rubbing his chest. He’d been pleasantly comforted by the touch.

Nothing more.

“That feels good,” he told the awesome woman lying in his bed. “Really good.”

Her smile was a sweet mixture of knowing and modesty. A woman who was, perhaps, just becoming aware of the depths of her own sexual power, as well?

What the hell was the matter with him? Analyzing, even now. He had breasts waiting before him.

Loving to do.

And still, Ryan couldn’t lose his distinct awareness of every single movement, every touch.

These moments were going to be embedded deeply within his memory, his heart, for the rest of his life.

Over the next hour Ryan discovered much about himself. And about Audrey Lincoln. As much focus as she gave to her young clients, she gave to making love with him. Every aspect of her was intent on him. Her gaze. Her touch. Her responses and attention. He’d never felt so consumed—and so alive. She knew him better in an hour than anyone had ever known him.

With fingers skimming the edge of his jeans, she almost drove him over the edge.

He had to release the zipper on his fly. Get his pants off. He had to set his penis free to love a woman. This woman.

Where before he’d moved slowly, savoring, Ryan now pulled at the button of Audrey’s pants with more strength than finesse. It came free with one tug. On his knees above her, he bent to her hips, grasping the jeans in both hands to tug them down over slim hips and long legs that seemed to go on and on.

Just when he’d thought it couldn’t get any better.

He stared at her thighs. At the scrap of white lace panty that didn’t quite cover the dark hair curling there. The thin strap of thong disappearing into her backside.

And something occurred to him.

She’d dressed for this. For him.

Looking up at her, he sought silent confirmation in the gaze that was fully on him.

“You’re okay with this.” It was more statement than question.

Her lips were trembling as she nodded.

With fingers that were oversensitized, he touched her, the soft skin of her legs, her inner thighs, the brush of hair at the top of her panties. He had to go slowly now, or explode before he ever got where he was going.

“I want yours off, too.”

Slow down, Mercedes, he told his raging body as he stood. Unbuttoned his own jeans, stepped out of them—taking his briefs off at the same time.

And then he stood before her, his penis full and weighted down, while she looked at him.

“Okay?” he asked when her gaze finally met his.

Licking her lips, she nodded again.

Ryan was beginning to love that silent affirmation, recognizing that she gave it when she most wanted something.

He meant to take another hour with her, to put his fingers every place he wanted his penis to go, to explore her so thoroughly there would be no part of her unknown to him.

He took a moment to sheath himself with a condom from the box in his bedside drawer—a supply that he used to replace the one in his wallet each month—and turned back to her.

Taking off her panties as he rejoined her on the bed, he made it only so long as it took him to spread her legs and settle himself between them. He didn’t have to wonder what to do. His body knew. He found her opening and gave a slow nudge, his gaze glued to hers.

And he watched her eyes open wider as his penis first penetrated and then, moving gently in and out, filled her more fully.

Nothing had prepared him for the way that felt. Ecstasy was too bland a word. Perfection not good enough to describe the sensation that filled him from head to toe. Heaven couldn’t be this good.

Ryan hadn’t known how he’d make certain that Audrey had an orgasm, wasn’t sure he’d recognize it when it happened. He only knew that he was not going to take his own pleasure without ensuring hers.

As it turned out, there was no issue. Fully inside her, he pulled out and thrust in again, and again, more quickly, feeling the pressure building in his erection, getting ready to explode, and knowing he was going to have to stop or go before she did when her moans changed, became more frantic, and then surprised-sounding as the inner folds of her body clasped him, pulsing around him. Over and over.

“Oh, my…” Her words were more cry than statement, released breathlessly before she sucked in air.

And with that breath, Ryan joined her, his body erupting with huge throbs as he came inside a woman for the first time in his life.

Highly praised and swiftly rising detective, Ryan Mercedes, had just lost his virginity.

YOU’RE IN TROUBLE, girl. Big trouble.

With Ryan’s “Oh, yes,” still ringing in her ears, the aftermath of his lovemaking leaving her lethargic and absolutely joyful at the same time, she tried her darnedest to rein herself in. To find reality.

She’d had sex before. Way before. And more recently than that, too. But she’d never made love.

Never felt that liquid heat devour every vein in her body, or known herself to give up control to the wild and free ecstasy he’d built inside her.

It had to be the wine. Or the fact that no one had ever taken more than an hour to have sex with her before.

It had to be how long they’d known each other without acknowledging the attraction between them.

It had to be the overdone steak.

It absolutely could not be that she’d in any way given any part of her heart to the man who was even now inside her.

Making her want to do it again.

“I’m sorry—am I too heavy?” Ryan lifted his shoulder off hers. The chilled air that drifted over her newly exposed skin was not welcome.

“No.” With one hand on his backside, holding him in place, and another on his shoulder, she pulled him back down. “You feel good.”

“I’m about to fall asleep.”

She’d figured so. Any man she’d ever been with—not that there’d been that many—had either jumped up and thrown on clothes immediately afterward, or fallen asleep without a word.

Novel to have someone actually talk to her about doing either.

“Sleep awhile, then,” she said softly, thinking she’d do the same herself.

Another first.

“But I don’t really want to sleep.” He raised up enough to look her in the eye. “I don’t want to waste a single moment with you.”

Oh, God, I am in serious trouble.

“I think that’s just about the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.” She told her new lover the unadorned truth. And lifted her head to plant a small kiss on lips that were slightly swollen.

Had she done that?

And left that love mark on his neck, too?

Was he going to be angry when he saw that?

Guiding his head gently back down to her chest, she ran her fingers slowly back and forth through his hair. It was full and thick, even for its shortness. And surprisingly soft.

So many things about this man were surprising to her. And yet, not surprising at all. He fit her so exactly, not only where they were still connected, but in all ways. He approached his job as she did, with everything he had, sparing little for any other life. He cared. He didn’t give up. He saw reality and still believed.

He had unbounded energy and had found a way, in spite of the experience and time it took to make detective, to avoid cynicism.

The weight of his head grew heavier and she hoped he’d allowed himself to rest. The man had worked all night. And if she had to guess, she’d figure he’d been up all day today, getting ready for tonight.

Everything in the apartment had been perfect. He’d dusted since she’d been there last. Vacuum marks had still lined the carpet. And the furniture outside was new, added since her previous visit when she’d peeked outside to the empty patio.

Dinner had already been prepared, other than the cooking of the steaks. Even the meat had been marinated.

It all spoke Ryan to her. Attention to every detail. Few mistakes. Dependable.

And she couldn’t fall prey to the tugs he was making on her heart. Neediness had cost her part of her soul.

A part she’d never get back.

As she continued to stroke his hair, Audrey glanced around the bedroom. As pristine as the rest of his apartment, and as sparsely decorated, the room was what she would have expected of a man whose priority was not his home, but rather, in getting the sleep he needed to do his job.

A bed. A dresser. Another big-screen television—for those sleepless nights? No window treatments other than the standard white blinds that were on every window in the condo.

And in every other unit in the complex, as far she’d been able to tell.

Nothing that really spoke of the man’s life. His past. No pictures of parents—or any other family. No obvious mementos from past girlfriends.

Not even a receipt on the dresser or a belt hanging from the doorknob.

He didn’t put himself out there.

And that was just fine with her.

“I want to make love to you again.” The words were uttered against her skin. Other than his mouth he hadn’t moved.

And she was already filling up with the moist heat that threatened to flood her lower belly. With a hand on his buttocks, she pulled him more fully inside her again.

“Then I think you should,” she whispered, needing him so badly she ached for him.

But only physically.

Please, God, let it only be physical.

CHAPTER FIVE

RYAN GOT UP in time to make it to the meeting with Scott Markovich. The kid, fearing that his stepfather would hurt his mother if he was in detention and not there to protect her, admitted that the woman had been home the afternoon the bastard had come after Scott in a way a man should never come at a boy.

She’d been drinking since early morning and had been plastered enough that her husband thought he could get away with a little on the side with her son.

He’d miscalculated Scott’s determination never to be touched that way again.

He’d also overestimated his wife’s stupor. She’d come into the room soon enough to keep Scott from killing the son of a bitch.

And she’d promised him that from that moment forward she would never, ever let another drop of alcohol pass her lips.

Scott believed her.

Ryan didn’t. As much as Scott wasn’t going to like it at first, being separated from his mother was the best thing that could happen to the boy. There was a relative, an aunt on his father’s side, who desperately wanted him.

None of that was Ryan’s business, however. His business here was almost done. A report to the prosecutor and he was out.

Another job done. A successful outcome this time.

Not something he ever took for granted.

Just as he didn’t take for granted the woman who, on Saturday night, he was once again holding in his arms.

Not because he wanted to, but because he had to. His sudden need for Audrey was not something he was comfortable with. It didn’t fit at all with his life plan. With his self-concept.

But one thing he’d learned in life—sometimes the things least understood were the most important.

“Thank you,” she said now, her voice sleepy.

“For what?” They’d been talking for more than an hour, lying there naked in his bed, the covers up around their waists.

They’d been in bed almost three hours.

“For Scott.”

He shrugged. “It’s my job.”

“Maybe.”

There was no maybe about it.

“But there’s something different about you. Something that makes you, I don’t know, more accessible. I don’t think Scott would have talked to anyone else. He’s not very trusting of cops. As a rule, every time they’ve come around, his life has been painfully disrupted.”

Because of his mother’s drinking. And because when he’d reported his stepfather’s earlier abuse, there hadn’t been enough solid evidence to charge the man with anything. And now, when Scott had been defending himself from a horror that must have seemed worse than death to him, he’d been arrested and detained on charges of manslaughter.

They were all doing their jobs. Enforcing laws that were in place to protect society, the people. So why was it so often that the victims were the ones who had the fewest rights?

With a brief flash of his birth mother, and a briefer one of his birth father—a man Ryan still struggled to accept for so many reasons on so many levels—Ryan said, “I think maybe my age helped us out this time. Most times it’s the other way around.”

He could say this here, to her. She’d understand. Audrey must have to fight many of the same battles he did, having so much responsibility, being capable of a maturity that was uncommon at such a young age.

Being forced into it by life’s lessons.

Maybe someday, he’d even be able to tell her about the circumstances surrounding his conception.

Maybe someday. Not today. Other than a few brief conversations with the parents who’d raised him, Ryan hadn’t talked about that particular case since they’d solved it the year before. Not even to the biological grandfather who was a law-enforcement icon in this state.

“How would your age have had anything to do with Scott’s ability to trust you?” She turned onto her back, her head in the crook of his shoulder, pulling his hands around her to rest across the flatness of her belly.

“Maybe it doesn’t. I just figured I’m probably closer to his age than any other detective he’s had to deal with. I figured that might have helped him relate to me a little bit.”

Her skull dug into his flesh as she turned to look up at him, grinning. “What, they give out some kind of memo at the office listing detectives’ exact ages?” she asked.

“No.” Suddenly Ryan wasn’t feeling so good. Surely she knew…he just assumed she knew. Everyone seemed to.

Shit. What if she didn’t know? His skin grew cold. Clammy. Worse than when he’d been facing that freaked-out druggie with the sawed-off shotgun the previous month.

“Then why would you say that?” she asked again. He could tell, from the frown marring her brow, the confusion in her gaze, that she was catching on to something.

And had no idea what.

Disentangling himself as gently, but as quickly, as possible, Ryan stood, skipping underwear as he pulled on his jeans and zipped them.

Surely this wouldn’t be a big deal. She’d only be what, two, maybe three years older than he was, assuming she went straight from college to law school?

Suddenly the budding relationship he’d been fighting against became something he had to have. No matter what. And another one of life’s little lessons became personal. Only by losing something—or facing its possible loss—did you realize its worth to you.

“You haven’t heard them telling the jokes about the detective in diapers?” he asked, scrambling for words.

“Nooo.” She drew the word out, sitting up and pulling the covers to her chin. “Exactly how old are you, Ryan?”

“How old do you think I am?” Now that was a mature reply. Fresh out of junior high.

“I don’t know. I thought early thirties. So…what…you’re twenty-eight, twenty-nine? That’s young for a full detective. And I guess it could make you seem more accessible to a kid Scott’s age.”

Ryan didn’t lie. Or prevaricate. Or play games. He lived life by the rules. All of them.

If you didn’t, people got hurt.

He was also a risk taker. Came with the cop territory.

He’d just never known such stark fear before when taking one.

“I’m twenty-two.”

He faced her, an unarmed firing squad of one, and knew by the look on her face as soon as he said the words that he’d risked as much as he’d feared—and lost.

AT FIRST AUDREY THOUGHT he was joking. He had to be. She was not spending the weekend in bed with a twenty-two-year-old boy. Someone had paid him to say that. Except that Ryan wasn’t the type to play mean games—not even for money. Especially not for money. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that Ryan Mercedes could not be bought.

“Say something.” He wasn’t laughing.

He wasn’t even smiling.

Nor did he look nonchalant, as though he was playing with her. In fact, he looked about as sick as she was beginning to feel. Sick, and scared.

And young.

Oh, God, what had she done?

“You’re twenty-two.” How could her voice sound like her when she’d just become someone she didn’t know at all?

“Twenty-three in a little over seven months.”

A young twenty-two. Not even twenty-two and a half. With numbers running quickly through her head, she stared at him, horrified.

Suddenly the sparseness of his apartment was no longer admirable. It screamed at her of youth and college and just starting out. The new patio furniture didn’t make her feel warm and wanted, but rather, as though she’d come to a tea party with a child.

And lying there, naked in his bed, she felt like a sex offender. What would this young man’s mother think of her?

She had to get up. Get dressed. Get out. Except that she didn’t want him to see her naked. At twenty-two Ryan would be used to young, nubile, completely firm and unmarked coeds.