Heat of the Night (Out of Uniform 5)

“I’m not lying, Annabelle. He pulled me into his study before dinner last night and laid it all out.”

She stared at Bryce, a vine of disgust twining around her spine. “So you were willing to marry me to keep your job? That’s pathetic.”

His face turned red. He opened his mouth to say something, but she was through listening. She held up her hand to silence him, continuing in a quiet voice. “We are not getting married, Bryce. I don’t care what threats my dad made against you, but if it makes you feel better, I’m going to talk to him right now and tell him to stop interfering in our lives.” She sighed. “I’ll make sure you keep your job, okay?”

Surprise filled his gaze. “You will?”

“Yes, so long as you understand that we are not getting back together. I don’t want to.” She paused. “And I don’t think you do either. So please, Bryce, just leave.”

With a nod, he stepped away from the window, then hesitated. “I am sorry, you know.” He met her eyes, shamefaced. “I know I was an ass to you, but I think we can both agree our relationship wasn’t working.”

She couldn’t help laugh. “Yeah, I think you’re right about that.”

Her chest felt surprisingly light as she walked Bryce to the front parlor. They didn’t hug or kiss goodbye; he just slid out the door, and the past five years they’d spent together simply floated away in the warm morning breeze.

Annabelle closed the door after him, then leaned against it, collecting her thoughts. A minute later, she straightened her shoulders in determination and made her way to her father’s study.

Time to confront dear old dad.

Ryan raised his beer to his lips, staring at the TV screen glumly. Thank f**k Matt was out. It spared Ryan the humiliation of being horribly belittled for his current viewing choice. But this was the last movie he’d watched with Annabelle, and he’d always been a sucker for self-torture. He drained the rest of his beer, the cold alcohol sliding down his throat but doing nothing to soothe the ache in his gut.

He missed Annabelle. He’d only known her for two weeks, and yet it felt like so much longer. And now that she was no longer in his life, it was like there was a big gaping hole in his chest. It was stupid, really. Things between them would have ended anyway—she had a job, a life, in San Francisco. Wasn’t like she would’ve moved to San Diego to be with him.

Quit thinking about her, he ordered himself. She’s gone, it’s over. Go out and get laid or something.

But the idea of having sex with some random chick at a club or bar held no appeal for him. He didn’t want random. He wanted Annabelle, damn it. It was funny, how for months he’d thought he was in love with Jane, and in the end, he’d been totally blindsided by his love for Annabelle.

The click of the door opening jolted him from his thoughts. Shit. Matt was back. Ryan set down his empty bottle and looked around for the remote control so he could turn off the movie before he got caught watching it. Damn, where the hell was the—

He froze as Annabelle strode into his living room.

She wore a pair of baggy tan Capris, a snug sky-blue tank top and red flip-flops on her feet. His pulse immediately sped up, getting faster when she crossed her arms over her chest, emphasizing her full cle**age.

“Hi,” she said, sounding very casual.

He swallowed. “Hi.”

Her brown eyes softened. “So, why didn’t you tell me my father tried to pay you off?”

A wave of surprise crashed into him, along with a flash of regret. Damn, he hadn’t wanted her to find out about that. Her father might be an ass, but he was still her father, and Ryan hated the pain he saw swimming in her eyes.

“I didn’t want to ruin your relationship with the guy,” Ryan admitted in a hoarse voice.

She uncrossed her arms, perching one hand on her hip. “Out of curiosity, how much did he offer?”

He made a wry face. “We never got that far, to tell you the truth. I told him to screw off long before we made it there.”

Something that resembled satisfaction flickered on her face. “Good.” Her eyes darkened. “But then you told me to screw off, too.” Regret rose in his chest. He wanted to apologize, but she lifted her hand to silence him. “I get why,” she said quietly. “You told me about the way you grew up, how awful it was. And then my dad goes and tells you that you don’t belong. I can see why it freaked you out.”

He slowly met her gaze. “You do?”

“Everyone gets insecure sometimes, Ryan. I just wish you’d talked to me about it instead of—O-M-G, are you watching P.S. I Love You?” she suddenly demanded, noticing for the first time what was on the TV screen.

He felt his cheeks heat up. Fuck. This was goddamn mortifying. “Uh, it’s on TV,” he lied.

“No, it’s not. I can see the DVD player counting the minutes going by.” Annabelle let out a delighted laugh. “You miss me!”

He tried to tamp down his amusement, but it came out in the form of a sheepish smile. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

Before he could react, she bounded toward him and launched herself into his arms. He held her close, breathing in the sweet scent of orange blossoms, rubbing his chin against the silky-smooth flesh of her neck. God, it felt good holding her again.

“I miss you too,” Annabelle said, pulling back. “I know it’s only been a day since you left, but it feels like forever.”