Trusting Ryan

Audrey had cellulite.

And what in the hell did that matter?

She did not want to attract this kid. Didn’t want him interested in her. At all. It was gross. She was gross.

Besides, he’d already seen it all.

When tears sprang to her eyes, she wanted to die.

“Hey, Audrey, it’s not a big deal.” With her eyes closed against the wetness still squeezing its way out of them to slide down her cheeks, Audrey almost gave in to that voice.

It had been the highlight of her life for weeks. It had brought her to life all weekend long, speaking to her of needs and a beauty that transcended all the trash their jobs brought to them. She’d responded to it like a flower to rain.

“Sweetie…”

Her heart calmed at the word. Knew a second of peace. Everything was going to be all right.

Then the bed dipped beneath his weight.

And she waited to feel the touch of his fingers on her face. Her neck. Needed to feel his heart beating beneath her cheek, his arms around her, keeping her safe…

No!

No! No! No! No! No!

“Stop!” The scream was shrill. Not a sound she’d ever heard come out of her mouth before. “Don’t come any closer.” The tone was softer, but no less foreign.

“Come on, babe, it’s not as if…”

Audrey’s eyes flew open. Wide open. She held up a hand, silencing him. She knew now. Couldn’t get sucked in by that deep, reassuring tone. The sense of confidence. How could she possibly find emotional safety and security with a twenty-two-year-old child?

Or almost child, she had to amend as she looked at the man sitting on the edge of the bed, concern shadowing his gaze. Concern and a caring so deep she almost couldn’t breathe.

She knew the breadth of that chest intimately. Knew the strength in the bones and sinews. The gentleness and passion in his…

No! What in the hell was the matter with her?

His lack of chest hair wasn’t genetic as she’d assumed. It was a symptom of youth. He hadn’t grown any yet!

Good thing she knew where the bathroom was. She might need to make a dash for it if the nausea attacking her got any worse.

They’d showered together in there that morning. He’d soaped her back and breasts and…

“Don’t babe me,” she said with more strength in her voice. And some venom, too.

“You’re angry.” He sounded surprised, was sitting there wearing the most heart-wrenching frown. Compelling her to smooth it away with her fingers, followed by a kiss…

What was she? His damn mother? Needing to take care of his woes?

“Damn straight I’m angry.” Audrey swung out of bed with a heave worthy of a football team, taking the covers with her. She would not expose her old body to his young gaze again.

Ever.

How embarrassing. Humiliating.

Wrong.

“Why? I don’t get it.” He followed her around the bed to where her clothes were scattered all over the floor. Helped her pick them up.

She snatched her bra from his fingers with a sharp “Give me that.” He shook his head.

“What’s a few years’ difference in age, Audrey? We’re still the same people who’ve been making love in that bed for most of the past twenty-four hours.”

How dare he remind her of that? Especially now?

“A few years?” she screamed at him. Where had that voice come from? Taking a deep breath, she finished a little more calmly, “That’s what you call it?”

“Last time I looked a few’s three to four,” he said, standing between her and the door—deliberately, she suspected. “I figure at the most we’re looking at five or six, so if you want to split hairs and worry about semantics, then it’s one or two more than a few.”

His voice had lost some of its tenderness, though she detected no anger. Just distance. He was transforming from lover to detective again. From child to man. Audrey stared at him. She couldn’t help it.

She had to leave. Had to get away and pretend this weekend never happened. To somehow rescue her heart from the debacle she’d created.

She started to laugh incredulously.

“Five or six years?” she asked, her voice, shaky with tears, still sharp. “That’s what you think?”

He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. A child his age had no right to look so damned mature doing that.

So damned sexy.

“Yeah,” he said with another frown. “You just took the bar exam. On average, a person graduates from college at twenty-one or -two, then does three years of law school. That puts him at twenty-five. But as smart as you are, and being a workaholic, I figured you probably didn’t take five years to do your undergrad, so there’s a good chance you were twenty or twenty-one when you finished your undergrad and twenty-three or -four out of law school, which made the difference in our ages not that great.”

He’d given the matter a lot of thought. She didn’t really understand why the notion calmed her, but she welcomed the respite. However brief it might turn out to be.

“I graduated from college at twenty,” she told him, not sure her delivery carried the power she intended as she stood there trailing sheets and a blanket over her naked torso. “At which time I followed my mother’s dictates and worked for her until I had saved enough money to attend law school without any help from her. She’d told me she would disown me if I made a decision so obviously not right for me.”

Ryan’s shoulders straightened. Tensed. His entire body seemed to be on alert. As though he were walking into a robbery in progress. “How long did it take you to save up for law school?”

“You can’t work your first year in law school, did you know that?”

His eyes narrowed. “No.”

“I had to save a couple of years’ living expenses, as well as tuition and books…”

“But you were working for the boss, so you made a lot.” There was nothing childlike about the alert man standing before her. Nothing young or immature about the commanding tone of voice, almost as though he could will the truth to be what he needed it to be.

“My mother insisted I start out at the bottom and earn my way up just like everyone else. Character building, she said.”

She almost felt sorry for him. Except that she had to stay angry to survive this. And to figure out a way to exit with dignity.

Or, more importantly, with finality.

She just wasn’t sure who she was mad at. Herself or him. She hadn’t known. She’d assumed.

And so, apparently, had he.

Suddenly Audrey was exhausted. Needed to get this over and done with. Needed to get outside his world and find herself again.

To reassure herself that she was still there.

Intact.

That she hadn’t made a mistake that would change the rest of her life.

“I’m thirty-five, Ryan.” Her words were crisp and clear. All business. “Thirteen years older than you. Almost old enough to be your mother.”

CHAPTER SIX

YOUR MOTHER. Audrey’s words crashed around in Ryan’s brain, deafening him to whatever else she was saying. He could see her lips moving, but couldn’t make any sense out of the sound. Your mother.

She had no idea how close she was to the truth.

Ryan’s biological mother was thirty-eight. Only three years older than the woman he’d spent the past twenty-four hours in bed with.

He stood rigid. It’s what he did. Remained on his feet no matter the circumstances. Met it head on. Handled it.

Did what was right.

Followed the rules.

Black and white.

What in the hell did he do with a situation that had every color of the rainbow, in every hue, all clashing with one another, surrounded by a sea of brown and a buzzing that wouldn’t quiet?

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