Leave Me Breathless

‘Happy now?’ I ask quietly, turning a kiss onto his pec.

‘You’ll never know,’ he sighs, returning my gesture and pushing his lips into my hair. ‘Let’s go back to bed.’

Wouldn’t that be wonderful? But I have a shop to open, a fete to prepare for, and he has a daughter to collect. ‘I need to shower and get all this sticky ice cream off.’ I sit up, straddling him, and point to various parts of my body where the evidence of his little game last night remains.

‘I think you’ll find I cleaned you up pretty well with my tongue.’ Quickly he sits up and unbuttons my shirt. ‘See?’ He smiles at my chest and reclines, using his arms as a rest, all relaxed.

‘You’re incorrigible.’

‘I love your boobs.’ He shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like it’s a given. Eyeing him as I slowly rise, standing over him, one foot on either side of his hips, I wonder if he realizes that to me, it’s everything. To Ryan, I am perfect, and I’ve never been perfect to anyone. Not even myself.

I step over him. ‘You can play with them again tomorrow.’ I jerk to a stop when his palm wraps around my ankle, and I look down to find he’s rolled onto his side to stretch and reach me as I walk away. His face is a picture of cuteness.

‘Come back.’

‘I have to get showered. And you need to pick up Alex. I don’t want you to be late.’ I try to shake off his hold with no success. ‘Ryan, come on.’ I can’t lie, I’d love nothing more than to disappear in his bed for all eternity, but it’s both unrealistic and unfair. If he doesn’t take those puppy-dog eyes off me now, I can’t promise I won’t test how unrealistic and unfair I can be. ‘Let go,’ I say, shaking my leg.

‘You won’t regret it.’ His voice is low and rough and entirely meant to be.

He’s set for a win. I put up some resistance when I feel him pulling against my ankle, and I try to avoid his lazy gaze. I’ll be doomed. Alex will hate me. My shop will be closed all day.

‘No.’ I kick out my leg more aggressively than I mean to, and as a result a plume of dirt and leaves wafts up into his face, making him cough and splutter. Oops. I use his distraction, while he’s brushing at his nose and mouth, coughing, to claim back my leg. ‘Sorry,’ I say meekly, smiling nervously when he slowly casts his eyes my way, his chest pulsing as a result of his deep, patience-gathering breaths. ‘Well, you should have let go,’ I argue and take a step back when he slowly starts to rise to his feet. Oh boy. He looks mad, but I know otherwise. I’m in for it. I’m thrilled.

Nothing Ryan Willis does or says scares me. I don’t second-guess his motives. I know where I stand. And I know he’d never, ever intentionally hurt me.

He straightens, rolls his shoulders threateningly, and even flexes his head from side to side, cricking his neck. I flash him a knowing smile, and he fights his natural instinct to return it. Then I pivot and make a mad dash for it, circling around the back of his cabin. I hear his feet thumping the ground, and I laugh uncontrollably, my adrenaline thundering through my veins. Looking over my shoulder, I see him gaining on me, his smile rampant. I zoom around the back of his truck and skid to a stop, panting. Ryan stops on the other side, his eyes narrowed, his attempt to look ominous absolutely wasted on me.

‘You know I’ll catch you,’ he says, not even a little bit out of breath.

Me, on the other hand . . . I’m already bloody knackered. It’s the anticipation. Must be, since I’ve barely run fifty yards. ‘Probably,’ I admit. ‘You’re ex-MI5, after all.’

‘Then why are you running?’ He circles one way, and I circle the other.

‘Because I like you chasing me,’ I say coyly, reversing my direction when Ryan does. He stops. I stop.

‘I already caught you, though.’

Oh, he did. Fair and square. ‘Have you ever caught anyone else before?’

His head cocks. ‘Are you talking about my job or my personal life?’

‘Personal life.’ I press my lips together, holding back my grin as he watches me with playful narrow eyes.

‘No, because I’ve never chased anyone.’

My grin breaks, my satisfaction clear. I believe him. ‘And for work?’

‘I’ve chased loads of people for work.’

‘And caught them?’

‘Yes.’

‘And killed them?’

‘No.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ I whisper. He’s lying. I don’t know how I know, yet I know. Maybe it was his instant answer or his suddenly straight face. Or the warning look in his icy stare. He has killed people.

‘You should believe me,’ he says quietly.