The Best is Yet to Come Part 9

Ryder was enjoying it every bit as much as she. He smiled lazily as he savored her soft lips, teasing them into parting. But he drew back when she lifted toward him, keeping her carefully at a distance while he skillfully built the tension between them to flashpoint.

Her teeth caught his lower lip and then his upper one as the pleasure grew. Her soft body pressed coaxingly against his, savoring the powerful muscularity of him until she felt the slow, fierce reaction of her provocation. And even then she didn't draw away. Her breath caught gently, because this was becoming familiar to her, this rigid set of his body. Familiar. Even welcome.

He felt her yielding and barely kept himself in check. Slowly, he thought. Slowly, so that I don't frighten her.

His lean hands began to slide down her back while his lips toyed with her. They moved to the very base of her spine and pressed tenderly. He felt her breath expel in a soft rush against his mouth and his heart skipped.

"Your legs...are trembling," she said against his mouth, her nails biting into his arms.

"Yes." His head tilted to give him better access to her lips. "I'm going to make yours tremble even more," he whispered. His hands contracted and began to move her lazily from side to side, so that her belly brushed the evidence of his fierce arousal. She felt her body contract with anguished pleasure, even as she stiffened and lifted to him.

"On a...public beach," she began in a wobbly voice.

"A deserted public beach," he whispered. "And we're only kissing."

"No," she said, s.h.i.+vering. "Oh, no, it's not...only kissing!"

"It isn't enough, either," he bit off against her mouth. "Hold on tight, little one. I have to have something more..."

Even as the last word was drowned out by the roar of the surf, she felt his mouth suddenly pus.h.i.+ng her lips apart just before his tongue thrust insistently inside them.

The sensation was one she'd never felt with anyone except Ryder, and it was almost unbearably sweet. Fierce heat clenched in her belly and made her shudder rhythmically against his taut thighs. He gathered her up tight in his arms and his mouth became urgent. She felt her own heart beating and at that moment she'd have given herself to him in the sand without a thought of shame.

He knew it. Her reaction was impossible to miss. It gave him a sense of aching elation, increasing his ardor.

"I can't stand up much longer," she managed when his mouth released her swollen lips just briefly.

"If we lie down, there's going to be a whole new definition of the statement that we know each other," he said unsteadily.

"But we couldn't...here," she protested weakly.

"That's what you think," he said with rueful humor, pressing her hips against his to prove to her that they could, here.

"I mean, people," she faltered. Her eyes met his. "Someone might come down here."

"I know." His mouth touched her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, her chin. "Letting you go is going to rank along with scaling Everest on ice skates."

"I'm sorry." She opened her eyes and looked up at him, with her arms still linked around his neck. "I wasn't teasing. If you need me that badly, I won't even try to stop you," she whispered shyly.

His jaw tautened. "I think I knew that. But I won't ask the supreme sacrifice. Not now." He began to let go of her, very slowly. His arms still had a faint tremor, and his body was painful.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" she asked gently, searching his darkening eyes.

"Yes." He put her away from him and took a deep breath, trying to get past the knifelike pain in his gut.

"I suppose I shouldn't have done what I did," she said hesitantly, watching him straighten his clothes with shaking hands.

He looked up, his fingers still on the b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt. "Shouldn't you?" he asked and began to smile. The pain was easing, and now he could hardly believe that Ivy had actually come on to him. But unless he'd lost his mind, that was exactly what had just happened. "Why not?"

"It was, well, brazen," she said slowly.

He chuckled, but it wasn't a mocking kind of laugh. It was deep and pleasant and his eyes mirrored it. "As long as you confine your outbursts to me, we'll manage," he told her. He leaned toward her. "I enjoyed it," he whispered.

She blushed. "So did I."

His eyes twinkled. "In which case, you have my permission to do it again, whenever you like."

"Really?" she stammered.

His eyes were kind. Ben had hammered the impulsiveness out of her, the natural affection. But he was slowly bringing it back. He only hoped he was going to survive it. For the past few years, he'd been mourning Ivy, so there hadn't been a woman. Before that, he hadn't been accustomed to stifling his pa.s.sions. Only now was he beginning to realize what an uphill battle it was going to be not to rush Ivy into a relations.h.i.+p she wasn't ready for.

"We'd better get on the road," he said after a minute. "We don't want Jean to worry."

"No, of course not."

He slid a protective arm around her shoulders. "You can show her your bear. Have you thought of a name for him?"

She smiled. "Bartholomew."

"What?"

"Well, he's a very uptown sort of bear," she said seriously. "You can't really expect me to give him a common name."

He shook his head, but he didn't make any more comments about her choice of names. He just smiled.

Chapter 7.

Ryder found Kim Sun at Ivy's house, teaching Jean how to bake sponge cake.

"Don't fuss," Kim Sun challenged his boss. "You said my menu bored you, so I have learned beef stew, liver and onions, fried chicken and macaroni and cheese. Mrs. McKenzie taught me. In return, I taught Mrs. McKenzie to make Napoleons, crepes Suzette and sponge cake. Good trade, huh?"

"Good trade," Ryder had to admit. His pale eyes went to Ivy. She smiled at him, her eyes liquid, and for the first time, he felt nervous. She was going soft on him physically, and he was old enough to see dangers that she couldn't. He'd gone too fast, despite his good intentions. She wanted him, and apparently she was willing. But he didn't want her on the rebound. Even if she hadn't wanted her husband, she'd loved him. He wanted her heart much more than he wanted her exquisite body. But he wanted that enough to lose his head and take it, which would only complicate things. He had to keep the pace slow and steady, which meant, unfortunately, that he was going to have to draw back and put a rein on her impatient desire. He was going to have to manage that without turning her off completely or damaging her pride, and without going out of his mind because of his own frustrated desire. A tall order for a man violently in love.

Ivy saw the expression on his face and misunderstood it. Had she been too forward? Had she frightened him off?

"I'd better get up to the house. See you tomorrow, Ivy," Ryder said. "If you're through," he told Kim Sun, "you can drive me up to the house."

"I am through for now," the smaller man agreed. "Thank you, Mrs. McKenzie." He bowed his head to Jean.

"Thank you!" she replied heartily. "I'll fatten Ivy up yet with these new recipes!"

"She could use a little weight," Ryder said, his eyes sliding warmly over Ivy's slender body. "Not that there's anything wrong with the way she looks," he added gently.

"Flattery will get you supper," Ivy teased.

"Thanks, but I've got a lot of paperwork to get through," he said after a minute, hating the refusal when he saw her crestfallen look. But he couldn't handle being alone with Ivy much more today. His body was already giving him h.e.l.l for what he'd refused it earlier.

"You still have to eat." Jean came to her aid.

"I'm taking your daughter to Paris next week," he pointed out, startling Ivy as much as her mother. "It's a business trip, but she'll have time to shop and do some sight-seeing. The condition is that I have all my work caught up first."

"In that case," Ivy said softly, "please go home, Ryder."

He laughed. "Heartless woman. First you offer to feed me, then you send me packing. At least I get to take the cook with me. Come on, Kim Sun. Let's see how you ruin fried chicken."

The little man glowered at him. "You wait and see how nice I make it, then there will be no more smart remarks!"

"Promises, promises," Ryder murmured.

They went out the door with a wave, still arguing.

"You look happy," Jean remarked when they were sitting down to their own supper.

"I am," Ivy said. She toyed with her fork. "I guess you know that I'm crazy about him."

"Yes."

"I hope it's not too soon," she began.

"Ivy, Ben's dead," her mother said quietly. "And I'm not as blind as you might think. I know that your marriage wasn't happy. I've pretended, because you seemed to want me to. But don't you think it's time we both stopped?"

Ivy gave in. "I guess so. No, it wasn't happy. I was running from Ryder and Ben knew it. I should never have taken the easy way out. I just hope it isn't too late to change course. Ryder is acting...well, strangely."

"How?"

"He can't seem to decide between growling at me and kissing me."

"That's promising." Jean grinned.

Ivy scowled at her. "I don't understand."

"Never mind. Take it one day at a time and don't rush your fences. I've discovered in my old age that if you simply let things happen without trying to make them happen, loose strings get tied up neatly. Try it."

"Have I got a choice?" Ivy murmured. She sighed heavily. "I wish I could go back. Ben might have been happy with someone else. He might still be alive."

Jean covered her hand gently. "Honey, you can't remake the past. You have to go ahead. Ben didn't have to marry you. Will you try to keep that in mind? If you made him unhappy or not, he had as much choice as you did about staying married. He could have asked for a divorce. He didn't."

"He knew how I felt about Ryder," Ivy confessed miserably.

"If he knew, he had even less reason for continuing a marriage that was going nowhere," Jean said sensibly. "You can't love to order."

"Ben drank because of me," Ivy whispered.

"He did not," came the terse reply. "You can't keep tormenting yourself like this! Ivy, pity is no basis for a marriage. And if you're honest, you'll admit that pity was why you married Ben. You didn't love him, you felt sorry for him!"

Ivy buried her face in her hands. It was the truth. Ben had showered her with attention at the same time Ryder was avoiding her. He'd cried on her shoulder, and she'd taken pity on him. That was all it was. She hadn't thought ahead. Part of her motive had been getting back at Ryder, showing him that someone wanted to marry her, even if he didn't. But her revenge had certainly backfired.

"My poor baby," Jean said gently, pulling the weeping younger woman into her arms. "It's all right. Facing problems is half the battle of solving them. You just cry it all out and you'll feel better."

She did, too. That night, she admitted for the first time just how much of a sham her marriage had been. Ben's problems had been largely of his own making, and her guilt and pity had probably contributed to them. But he'd made his choices, just as she'd made hers. She hadn't forced him to marry her. Now that she'd come to grips with the failure of her marriage, she could start putting it behind her. Now she could concentrate on Ryder for the first time, and rediscover her lost womanhood. She felt wonderful.

That feeling lasted until the next morning. When she got to work, she found Ryder pleasant and courteous, but as distant as he had been when they'd come home from Arizona. Every time she came close, he withdrew. He'd said it was because he wanted her so badly, but she felt there was much more to his odd att.i.tude. She only wished she knew what it was.

They left for Paris on the following Monday. Ryder's brotherly att.i.tude had left Ivy in the dumps, and only the excitement of the trip kept her buoyed. Seeing Paris had been one of the big dreams of her life. Even now, she could hardly believe that she was actually going there, and with Ryder. They said that anything was possible in Paris. Perhaps the City of Lights could melt even his hard heart and help her win it.

He checked them into one of the ritzier hotels downtown near the Champs-elysees. She could walk out on the balcony and see all of Paris.

The smell of baking bread, and the faint, foreign smell of the city, drifted into her nostrils as she stared out over the wrought-iron rail toward the lighted Eiffel Tower. Far away, the silver ribbon of the Seine flowed lazily through the city with its barges and boats, and nearby were the spires of Notre Dame cathedral. It was magic. She closed her eyes and could almost hear peasants singing the Ma.r.s.eillaise in the streets, hear the excited cries of the crowds on those long-ago days when the monarchy in France had gone to the guillotine. There was such history here, such a presence. It was all she'd hoped for and more.

"Quite a view, isn't it?"

She turned at the balcony door to see Ryder standing behind her. His coat and tie were off, his collar unb.u.t.toned. He looked as tired as she felt.

"It's the most beautiful view I've ever seen," she agreed. "Ryder, you look so tired."

"Jet lag. Aren't you tired? Or is your age a point in your favor?" he added with faint sarcasm. "I'm ten years your senior, after all. My stamina is a little strained."

"Don't be like this," she asked gently. "We're in Paris." She started to move toward him, but he held up a big hand.

"No, you don't," he said shortly. "When you're back in one piece again emotionally, maybe. But not now. I don't want you on the rebound."

"What?" she stammered.

"You loved Ben. I don't want any leftover emotion from you. So keep it cool, honey." He turned and left the room before she could say a single word.

But if she hadn't got the message from what he said, his behavior would have punctuated it. He did everything but hold a knife in front of him to ward her off. He did it nicely, although there was a coldness in his manner that she'd thought was gone until they came home from Jacksonville. Now she didn't know what he wanted from her. She wondered if he knew himself. If only she could tell him how she felt about him. She had a feeling that it would clear up all the misunderstandings and misconceptions and pave the way toward the future. But she couldn't get up the nerve.

Ryder, meanwhile, was having problems of his own. He'd held in his own guilt about Ben until it was tearing him apart. Ivy didn't know that an order of his had sent Ben's father to his death, or that it was the reason Ben had started drinking. He'd hired Ben out of guilt, and subconsciously maybe he'd even moved aside for him with Ivy out of that same sense of responsibility. If Ivy blamed herself for what Ben had become, he could imagine that she'd blame him more. She'd loved Ben, and he was responsible for what Ben was. Indirectly it was his action that had caused the chain reaction, that had given Ben a drinking problem and caused him to be cruel to Ivy. He hated knowing that. He hated even more the thought of having her find out one day.

Keeping his hands off her was h.e.l.l. He couldn't stop watching her. She seemed so at home in Paris. Perhaps it was because of her French ancestry. She looked as if she belonged among the relaxed, happy citizenry, her dark hair and eyes and her exquisite complexion helping her to fit right in.

She seemed to glow, except when she looked at him. He knew she was puzzled and hurt by his att.i.tude, but he hadn't been kidding about his loss of control when he was around her. He didn't want them to slip too soon into a physical relations.h.i.+p before Ivy had time to get over Ben.

His intentions, however, took a step backward on their second day in Paris. Unfortunately, a very handsome young French businessman attending the conference got a look at Ivy and complicated Ryder's life.

Ivy was flattered by the man's attention. After two days of alternate freezing cold and brotherly lukewarm behavior from Ryder, it was almost a relief to find a man with a raging interest in her, even if it was focused mostly on her looks. She responded to it without realizing what it would do to Ryder.

The Frenchman was Armand LeClair, and he spoke English almost as fluently as he spoke French.

"Ivy," he savored her name, sitting close beside her during a brief lull while the speaker prepared his notes. "It is a delightful name. Very pretty. Like you, mademoiselle."

"You're very kind," she replied, smiling shyly.