chapter 9
“DEVON’S BEING BULLIED at school,” Ryan said in a flat voice.
They’d barely ordered their drinks when he came out with it, and Taylor wasn’t quite sure how to react. Her stomach had dropped when she first saw him in the slightly shabby, semi-deserted bar, since he clearly was very upset. His fists had been clenched at his sides when she joined him at his table, and they still were. Frustration emanated from him in waves, and he looked like he could eat nails and spit out staples.
“God, that’s awful,” she breathed. “What’s going on up there?”
He averted his eyes, glancing out the window to look at the sun setting over the Gulf, clearly trying to compose himself. “It’s one of those stupid Facebook things where kids post made-up shit to embarrass somebody they don’t like. I guess it’s rampant these days.”
Taylor had been one of the lucky ones because she’d never been bullied. But she’d seen plenty of it going on in school and outside. In a really bad scenario, the damage inflicted could change the course of a kid’s life. “Did she tell you what they were saying?”
Aside from being wound up, Ryan looked tired at the same time. As tired as she felt. His eyes were clouded with fatigue, and she could make out the worry lines around them even in the dim light of the bar. His broad shoulders were hiked up around his ears, and he’d now gone from clenching his fists to drumming his fingers on the polished wooden surface of the table. Taylor fought the instinct to reach out and cover his hand with her own, trying to calm his obvious anxiety. She fought it because she knew she was already diving into some very deep waters.
To make matters worse, Ryan looked as handsome as sin in a tight black tee shirt that stretched across his massive shoulders. The sleeves were cut high, barely reaching past the tops of biceps that bulged with hard, toned muscle. When he’d stood as she came to the table, she’d eyed his low cut jeans hugging his hips and got that feeling between her thighs. She’d almost given him a goofy smile until she caught the concerned look on his face and remembered why she was there.
Focus, girl. This isn’t about chemistry. It’s about helping a friend.
But she had to admit that the combination of concerned, straight-up dad and hot baseball player was a pretty devastating one to her sense of self-preservation.
“They’re spreading the lie that she’s a drug user.” He let out a disbelieving and disgusted laugh that rang hollow in the half-empty bar.
Taylor wasn’t sure what to think. The mean girls might very well be making it all up, but on the other hand what were the chances Devon would come clean to her father if she was indeed using?
Not that it was her job to ask that sort of question. Devon was Ryan’s daughter, and Taylor needed and wanted to support him. “You’d think that a top quality private school would be all over that kind of bullying like ticks on a dog. I don’t get it.”
Their server returned with the glasses of Zinfandel they’d ordered. Taylor decided to let hers sit for a few moments—her stomach was so unsettled from lack of food and nerves that she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to drink it—but Ryan didn’t hesitate to slug back a mouthful.
“I suppose they probably could, if Devon actually reported it,” he finally said.
That was bad. Taylor suspected Devon was too afraid of blowback from the bullies. Either that, or she was using, but she definitely wasn’t going there. “And you obviously don’t think she will report it.”
He lifted his shoulders in a smooth shrug, drawing her eyes to that very enticing part of his body. “Not a chance. She told me she’d take care of it in her own way.”
“That sounds a little ominous.”
“Tell me about it. She’s a tough kid, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d physically defended herself—against boys, too. But if she does it at Edenwood, she’ll be out of there so fast she won’t know what happened. That place isn’t going to put up with any more shit from her.”
“Ryan, given how smart she is, I expect she’ll find a way to deal with the situation without resorting to physical violence.” She had no idea if that was true, but she wanted to be supportive.
“I sure hope so.” He took another big drink, leaving less than an inch in the glass. She might be only having one drink tonight, as she’d told him, but he was obviously in a different frame of mind.
“I can see you’re worried,” she said, feeling worse by the minute. As if he didn’t already have enough to worry about.
He nodded. “Sending her to Edenwood was the right thing to do. The psychologist recommended it, and Devon agreed. Reluctantly, but she did. But when something like this happens, I feel like I might as well be on the moon for all the good I’m doing her. I can’t help feeling like a crappy, absentee parent.”
She held up her hand, palm out. “Hey, Ryan. Let’s back up a step. Kids go away to school all the time. Probably three-quarters of her schoolmates are in the same boat she’s in. You’re not being a bad parent just because you’re not waiting for her at home every day with milk and cookies. As far as I can see, you’re making the best of a tough situation, so I don’t see that you’ve got any cause to beat up on yourself. After all, you’ve got to work so you can support your family.”
He took that in for a few seconds, and the corners of his lips tilted up in a slight smile. “I think I’ve perfected the self-flagellation technique, after seven long years of practice.”
Taylor gave a little laugh. It felt good to see him lighten up, even if it was only a flicker.
But as quickly as his smile had appeared it vanished, and his mouth once more became a thin, hard line. “I really feel like I laid a hit on her today. She wanted to spend the weekend here, but I had to tell her that wouldn’t work. Not with it being opening day on Monday.” His fingers paused in their staccato drumming, then started up again. “Then I told her I’m likely going to get traded out of here, anyway.”
Taylor flinched a little. Well, at least it’ll be a pleasant surprise on that score when you find out you’re going to Philadelphia. “You could be right about that.”
His gaze hardened. “You know I’m right. I’ve seen this happen dozens and dozens of times. Sometime in the next twenty-four hours, I’m going to get a call saying either that I’ve been traded or that I’m going down to the minors.”
Dammit, dammit, dammit.
Her stomach tightened painfully, making her regret her first, tentative sip of wine. “I won’t disagree, since you wouldn’t believe me, anyway,” she said. “You can refuse both a trade and a demotion, but we both know that won’t change much in the end. If the Hornets want you gone, well, you know exactly how it is.” Ryan wouldn’t be happy if she tried to bullshit him about a situation that they both understood very well.
“All I could do is to make it a little harder for them.” He sighed heavily. “But I’m not going to do that. The Hornets organization has been good to me. If I have to go, I want to do it with a little dignity. As long as they ship me to an AL team, I won’t give them any trouble. I just hope to God it’s not one on the west coast. If that happens, I’ll have to move Devon to a school out there, and she’ll go crazy about that, too.”
As long as they ship me to an AL team.
The words were like a kick to Taylor’s gut. Though he was only repeating what he’d already told her, it hit her harder now because she knew that a big old semi-trailer was likely going to be barreling down the road at him very, very soon.
She didn’t trust herself to say another word about what might or might not happen to him, but she needed to respond somehow. Her desperate mind latched on to the first thing that crossed it. “If you are traded, maybe you could ask for a few days off before you have to report. Maybe go up to New York and spend the weekend with Devon there. Or meet her back at your place in Pittsburgh.”
Mentally, she winced. What a dumb thing to say, and her gut told her she’d only dredged that scenario up because she’d thought it would be another indication—when the shit hit the fan—that she didn’t know about the trade in advance. She absolutely hated that he might think she’d been plotting all the while they’d been seeing each other.
But denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, as her dad used to say. Taylor knew she’d be facing some consequences herself, sooner or later. But would telling him the truth right now make things better or worse for him? She honestly didn’t know.
Ryan shot her a baffled look, as if wondering how a team executive could say something so goofy. But then his expression immediately softened, as if he realized she was probably grasping at straws just as much as he was. God, he really was such a good guy.
“It’s too close to the start of the regular season, Taylor,” he said. “No team is going to want to give me any time off, much less three or four days. They’ll want me to get up to speed right away, and play as many of the remaining exhibition games as possible.”
Ryan was dead right about that. Especially if he ended up with the Patriots. Jack Ault and Pedro Delgado would have him taking infield practice before he had a chance to get his stadium parking pass. His daughter would be spending a lot of time on her own for the next few months, but maybe she could come watch him play for his new team.
Except Ryan had told Taylor the other night that Devon hated baseball.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do about seeing Devon,” he said. “But I’ve got to come up with something soon. We might bark at each other and fight, but she needs more from her dad than I’ve been giving her.”
“I know you’ll find a way, Ryan,” Taylor said, putting as much empathy into her voice as she could.
He gave a nod of thanks, his dark eyes warming with appreciation. That look sent shivers cascading down her spine.
Their server pulled up just then, asking if Ryan wanted a refill. He nodded. “Sure. Taylor? Can I tempt you?”
Oh, God, you tempt me more than you’ll ever know, pal. Taylor eyed the remaining inch in her glass and told herself to say no.
Instead, she exhaled a sigh. “Oh, why not?”
The conversation might be giving her agita, but saying goodnight to Ryan Locke was proving more of a challenge than she’d thought possible.
* * *
ONE DRINK.
When Taylor said that on the phone, Ryan had hoped she would reconsider. Though he’d happily take even an hour of her company, he much preferred the thought of an entire evening staring into those magnetic blue eyes. And if the evening just happened to stretch into the early hours of the morning at his house, that would be a hell of a fine ending to what had otherwise been a miserable day.
Fortunately, Taylor had indeed reconsidered. One drink had now turned into three, though she remained clear-headed since they’d been eating plates of appetizers and babbling on about everything for over three hours. He, on the other hand, had managed to work his way to the bottom of the wine bottle he’d ordered after two rounds of single glasses. It was the first time he’d allowed himself to get even remotely drunk all spring, and tonight had seemed like the right night. Hell, it wasn’t every day that you awaited being frog-marched before a baseball firing squad in the next twenty-four hours.
Okay, those words sounded a little dramatic, even in to him. Whatever happened with the trade, he’d find a way to manage. The absolute worst part—and his biggest worry—was the impact it would have on his daughter.
Ryan gazed across the table at the sweet, beautiful woman smiling at him. She had the adorable habit of pushing strands of hair back behind her ears whenever they started to brush her smooth, flawless cheeks. Seconds later, the recalcitrant locks drooped down again, only to be casually tucked back in a totally automatic motion. As far as he’d been able to tell, Taylor wore little makeup other than eye liner and some gloss that made her lips look wet and so inviting that it was all he could do not to lean across the table and taste them.
“You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden,” she said.
Ryan had been thinking it over and had decided to say what had been on his mind since the moment she walked in the bar tonight. “I’ve been trying to come up with the right words to tell you how beautiful you look tonight.”
Taylor blinked twice. Then she shook her head. “In my experience, after five or six glasses of wine people tend to say all sorts of crazy things.”
“Crazy? About you, maybe. And it’s not the wine talking, Taylor. I’ve been attracted to you since the minute I saw you checking me out at the stadium.”
It sounded a bit clumsy, but he didn’t know how else to say what he was feeling. Words had never been his thing, and his dating experiences after Devon’s mother had been brief and unsatisfying. In fact, Taylor was the first woman he’d truly felt comfortable talking to in his life, and that included his ex-wife on her best days. His buddies all kidded him about how he never kept a girlfriend for more than a month, and would probably be a bachelor forever. He’d gone along with the rakish persona, but in his mind it fit him about as well as a square peg fits in a round hole. He didn’t see himself as a player. He saw himself as…lonely.
Taylor had glanced away, as if suddenly interested in the lights of a few boats out in the Gulf, and it made him think maybe he’d read her all wrong after all. Though she’d sounded reluctant to see him again when he’d called, he could have sworn there was still some kind of serious chemistry going on between them. He might not be any kind of expert in parsing what women said, but he’d always thought he was good at picking up the non-verbal signals. And Taylor had flashed him enough positive ones that he’d taken the plunge to clear up any doubt she might have had about how much he wanted her.
She looked like she was about to answer him when her cell phone rang. Ryan gave a mental curse as she reached down into her bag for it and glanced at the call display.
“I’m sorry, Ryan, I have to take this. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He followed her curvy form as she strode quickly across the room and out the door. He swore she’d looked relieved when the damn phone went off—at least until she saw the call display. Then her brows had snapped together. Obviously something she didn’t much like.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that she’d gotten that call. And maybe he needed to slow down a bit. But, hell, he sure didn’t want to. When he’d called her to ask her for a drink, he hadn’t planned on trying to take it farther than that. He really did only want to tell her about Devon, instinctively feeling she might be able to help him work through it, or at least put his reaction into perspective.
But something was driving him to make a move on Taylor tonight, and it was probably the prospect of the trade hammer falling on him. By this time tomorrow he could be hundreds of miles away in Florida, or even all the way across the country in some place like Arizona. After that, the chances of anything happening between them would be close to zero.
That idea made him grip his wine glass with enough white-knuckled tension to crack it.
* * *
“THE LOCKE DEAL’S almost there.” Dembinski’s voice revealed the self-satisfied arrogance of success. “Ridge is making a show of holding out for a third round pick two years out instead of the fourth I offered, but he’ll fold soon. He f*cking salivated when I dangled DeMarcus Jones in front of him.”
Jones was a five-tool outfielder who was going into his first year of High-A ball. Despite a ton of talent, the Patriots had already started to sour on the former top prospect after his first two years in the low minors because the guy had shown a persistently disruptive clubhouse attitude. Joe Ridge would certainly know that about Jones, so he must be willing to take a chance that the talented youngster would someday settle down.
Though Taylor had expected Dembinski to pull off the Locke trade, it nevertheless sent a wave of nausea straight to the pit of her stomach. “Good,” she managed, though it felt anything but. She leaned against a plate glass panel beside the door, ignoring a fifty-something bleached blonde who was sucking on a cigarette like it was the very elixir of life. Taylor hugged herself with her free arm, shivering a little. The air had turned cool after a hot, sunny day.
“Is that all you can manage?” Dembinski scoffed. “Hell, I just got you your guy. You should be over the moon, for Christ’s sake.”
Taylor rushed to atone for her flat response. “Yes, absolutely. It’s fantastic news, really. I’m sorry, I was just distracted for a moment by a guy cutting into my lane and practically running me off the damn road,” she managed, hoping she sounded convincing.
“Yeah, there are some major a*sholes on the roads on this state. Where are you, anyway?”
Nowhere you need to know. “I just finished dinner with a friend.”
“I didn’t think you had any friends down here—not on the Gulf side, anyway,” Dembinski said skeptically.
Taylor had told him that not long ago, and it was true. She still had a ton of friends in the Dragons organization, but their spring training site was on the Atlantic Coast, in the West Palm Beach area. “I do occasionally meet new people, Dave,” she replied, forcing a laugh.
God, she hoped he wouldn’t press her for details, even if it wasn’t his business who she spent private time with.
“Well, if this Locke idea works out, dinner’s on me,” he said grandly. “It was a bit off-the-wall when you came up with it, but I’m definitely warming to the idea, especially since it looks like we’re going to get him for peanuts.”
“Great. Dave, I don’t want to cut you off, but I think I’d better pay attention to my driving now. I’m not familiar with these roads.”
You are such a liar.
“Do that,” he said. “See you tomorrow morning. Hopefully, we’ll have a final deal by then.”
“Sure. Bye for now, and thanks for letting me know.”
When Dembinski hung up, Taylor exhaled a loud enough sigh that the Marlboro Blonde gave her a quizzical look. Taylor shrugged and slipped back inside as fast as she could.
Ryan stood as she came back to their table. “Everything okay?” His eyes were narrowed with concern, or maybe suspicion.
Taylor forced a smile as she sat back down. “You know how it is in spring training. Little fires are always breaking out, and somebody always thinks it’s an emergency.”
He cocked one dark eyebrow. “Some of your guys drink too much and get in trouble with the locals? That’s about as normal down here as sunshine and gators.”
If only. “Nothing quite that dramatic, even,” she said.
Ryan smiled, apparently giving up on pressing her for details. Taylor gave a little mental word of thanks since she’d already fibbed enough tonight. When he grabbed the wine bottle and seemed on his way to pouring the little bit that remained into her glass, she put her hand out to stop him. “No more for me, please, or I won’t be fit to drive back to the hotel.”
He put the bottle back down. “Good thinking.”
She exhaled a sigh, not wanting to leave but knowing she couldn’t sit across from Ryan for one more minute while she continued to hide the truth from him. The truth that would both dramatically change his life and end their chances at a relationship.
“As for me,” he said, giving her a lazy grin, “after knocking off almost this whole bottle, I think I’d better err on the side of caution. I’ll get them to call me a cab when I take care of the bill. I can pick up my car in the morning.”
Taylor liked that Ryan played it smart and safe. Still, she knew that getting from St. Pete Beach to his house on the other side of the bay would involve a monstrously expensive cab ride on a looping route over the Sunshine Skyway Bridge and all the way back up I-75. And then there would be an equally long and expensive cab ride back again in the morning.
Taylor hesitated for only a few seconds. “Forget the cab—it’ll cost you as much as your car is worth. I’ll drive you home.”
She’d told herself the sensible thing to do was say goodnight to him now and make her way straight back to the hotel. But for what? More sleepless hours while she thought about Ryan and fretted about tomorrow? That sounded about as inviting as running a cheese grater over her face. No, it struck her as infinitely preferable to do Ryan a solid by giving him a lift. That way, she’d kill at least ninety minutes cruising to the other side of the bay and back to Clearwater. Maybe she’d even find an all-night diner or coffee shop on the way to the hotel and belt back some caffeine. Why not? It couldn’t make her any more wired than she already was.
Ryan frowned. “That’s real nice of you, but it’s a hell of a long way out of your way.”
But the glint in his eye told her he liked the idea a lot.
Taylor shrugged as if her offer was nothing. “I’d expect a gentleman to do the same for me if I succumbed to inebriation,” she said lightly.
He nodded. “I see. It’s an equality thing, is it? Well, in that case, how can I say no?”
A few moments later, Ryan had taken care of the bill and they headed out to her car. After Taylor popped the Fusion’s locks, Ryan held the door open for her to slide into the driver’s seat. When he got in the passenger side, he had to fold his long body through the door and onto the leather seat and then almost desperately search for the control that would slide his seat back far enough so that he didn’t have to practically kiss his knees. Taylor thought about reaching across his lap to get at the control button herself, but realized that might be the most dangerous thought she’d had in a long while.
She mentally groaned as she started the car. Who was she kidding? This impulsive idea was not just about doing Ryan a favor. It was also about not wanting the evening with him to end. Because it wasn’t just the evening that was going to end, everything between them was going to end. She’d have to throw the cut-off switch and kill the crackling electricity they were both feeling, because starting tomorrow, Ryan Locke the Philadelphia Patriot would effectively be her employee. She’d have input into decisions affecting his life, and messing around with people in that situation was a recipe for a world of pain.
Ryan didn’t say much on the long loop around the bottom of the bay and neither did Taylor. Maybe they were both too tired, but she doubted that. More likely, he was sensitive to her nervousness about what might or might not go on at the end of the ride. When they’d reached the end of the Skyway, Taylor had nervously put on a CD. As Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” boomed out, Ryan had nodded his approval, clearly sensing she didn’t want to force a conversation.
By the time he directed her off I-75 and down Apollo Beach Boulevard to a series of curved streets, Adele was getting near the end of the play list. Taylor and Ryan had exchanged maybe twenty words on the looping drive, but a million volts of electricity had arced between them. Almost every time Taylor took her eyes from the road to flick a glance at him, Ryan had his gaze locked on her—usually on her face, but sometimes lower. That gaze was sexy and utterly predatory, and she couldn’t deny the excitement coursing through her. Some part of her mind prompted her to tell him to chill, but her traitorous and sex-starved body revelled in all that sinful-inducing attention.
And who the heck would blame her? What red-blooded young woman would be immune to Ryan’s look—and to the raw, masculine power that rolled off him every inch of the trip, enveloping her in a haze of sensual longing and barely suppressed desire.
Ryan directed her to pull into a driveway at the end of a street that bordered the bay. Though she couldn’t see much of the surrounding area in the darkness, his house was lit by a wash of floodlights that spread a soft yellow glow over the front of the house as well as over the tall palm tree in the center of the front yard. The house—not big by the standards of ballplayers—was a one story home of peach colored stucco walls and a tile roof, fairly typical of the Florida she knew. She parked in front of a three-car garage and left the motor running as she turned to him.
“I enjoyed tonight,” she said. “I hope it helped to be able to talk things out a bit. About Devon,” she added.
Oh, Lord. She sounded as wooden as you could get.
Backlit as Ryan was by the glow of the floodlights, Taylor could only see the outline of his stark features and his broad shoulders but she still felt the intensity of his gaze.
“It did,” he said in a darkly rumbling voice. “But you should come in for a while and have some coffee—you’ll need it for the long drive you’ve still got ahead.”
Coffee sounded really good to her, but the rest of what he obviously had in mind sounded a whole lot better. Taylor had to clench her left hand into a fist to keep from reaching for her door handle.
Be smart, Taylor.
She swallowed hard and stared straight ahead at the garage doors. “Ryan, I think you and I both know exactly what would happen if I set foot outside this car.”
She glanced his way as he leaned in closer over the console. His hooded look and knowing smile brought an answering flush of heat to her body. “And that would be a bad thing?” he said softly.
“That would be a dangerous thing,” she managed to choke out. “And you know why.”
Ryan cocked his head, studying her. “Yeah, I get what you’re saying. But, hell, life is dangerous, Taylor. I’ve always figured that if we don’t take risks we end up regretting that we didn’t take our chances. That we didn’t grab hold of the opportunities in front of us.” He reached forward and grasped her gently by the wrist, his big hand circling it easily.
Taylor knew she should shake him off, but he seemed to be sucking the willpower right out of her. His long fingers, hard and calloused from endless swings of the bat, stroked the fragile skin on the inside of her wrist, evoking a shiver of pleasure. Without even fully realizing what she was doing, she planted her hand on top of his and squeezed, closing her eyes. She hated her lack of resolve, but how could something so wrong still feel so right?
And didn’t those clichéd words remind her of some syrupy country ballad?
But that squeeze was the only signal Ryan needed. He leaned in closer and slid his right hand behind her neck and pulled her head forward into a kiss. Taylor stiffened for just an instant with surprise, even though she was well aware that she’d practically issued him a permit for use. She started to lean back in a futile attempt to break it off, but his grip was firm and her head didn’t move an inch as his lips covered hers with delicious heat. When his tongue probed between her lips, she let out a little moan and surrendered. She opened fully to him, her hands slipping around his back, her fingers snaking into his hair.
When Ryan gave a low growl in response, wrapping his other arm tightly around her waist, the kiss became more than a kiss. It morphed into a storm—wild, wet, rough and dangerous. Taylor could feel his strong heartbeat as the warmth of his body enveloped her, and her body instinctively softened to meet his unspoken demands. Lost in the shattering kiss, she retained just enough awareness of that hand at her waist moving to her thigh and heading slowly north. She knew she should brush it away, or even push him back into his seat, but her brain had apparently melted into mush under his sensual assault. All she wanted right now was more of him. God, it had been so long since she felt this good.
Have I ever felt this good?
“You taste so good,” he murmured against her lips as he allowed a fraction of space between them. “So damn hot.”
He tasted good, too, and masculine as hell. But after a kiss like that one, her senses were so overloaded that she probably couldn’t tell cherries from chewing tobacco. Taylor leaned into his brawny body and panted against his shoulder, flushed and out of breath.
“Let’s go inside,” Ryan urged in possibly the huskiest voice she’d ever heard. His hand moved a little higher up her thigh.
It was a good thing he’d broken the kiss before her body overruled her brain. But the break allowed her good sense to push back against the waves of sensual longing sinking her into a deep well of need. “Can’t,” she forced out in a breathless whisper, and gently pushed his hand away. “I just can’t. I’m so sorry.”
She wriggled back into her seat, swamped with guilt and frustrated desire. “Under other circumstances, Ryan...but right now, it would just be too...too...complicated.”
More than I can even tell you.
Ryan turned his head away. The play of light and shadows highlighted a hard jaw tense enough to crack walnuts. “I don’t get it, Taylor. You know you want this. Hell, your body’s telling me that loud and clear. Am I wrong?” He flicked her an assessing glance. “I don’t think so.”
No, you’re so damn right.
But Taylor couldn’t admit that dangerous truth.
After a few moments of painful silence, Ryan let out a weary, almost defeated sigh that made her feel sick to her stomach. Turning slightly, he gave her cheek the gentlest imaginable stroke, lingering for a few seconds as if saying a tender goodbye. “Well, okay, then.”
He opened the door and got out without another word.
Taylor exhaled her sigh, one that sounded just as weary and defeated. It came from an overwhelming sense of lost opportunity, rather than from relief.
Holding onto the open door, Ryan ducked down to look at her. “I don’t know whether we’ll ever see each other again.” He paused. She felt rather than saw his grimace. “But whatever happens, Taylor, I just want you to know that this felt real.”
Taylor couldn’t speak, could only give him a slow nod in response. If she opened her stupid mouth, she’d probably start crying. Even worse, she might tell him not to give up on her.
He gave her a wistful smile as he drew back. “Thanks for the ride—drive safe, okay?”
“I will,” she finally managed in a thin voice.
God, her diaphragm felt so tight she could hardly breathe. She threw the car into reverse and focused on the rear view mirror as she backed out of the wide driveway. As she braked at the road, she risked a glance.
Caught in the headlights, Ryan stood in front of the garage, feet braced wide apart, staring at her relentlessly, as if by sheer force of will he could make her come back. Taylor’s heart pounded so hard she thought it might jump right through her ribcage and the tight band of muscles encircling her chest.
This felt real.
God, it felt real to her, too. More real than anything she’d felt in a very long time.
With no more conscious thought than that, Taylor gave in to instinct. She shoved the shift lever down into drive and wheeled back into the driveway. As Ryan came to meet her in a long-legged stride, she abandoned her last futile attempt at resistance. Tomorrow would bring what tomorrow would bring, and she would once more devote every shred of her being to the brutally analytical path of the career she’d chosen for herself.
But tonight…tonight would be for the woman she’d submerged for so long, the one who needed more than just cold, hard numbers.