Challenging Andie Page 4

  And he wanted her, didn’t he? The way he’d responded when they’d kissed couldn’t be faked.

  Their gazes locked for long moments, then he nodded. “Okay, let’s go to bed.”

  Chapter Four

  In the silent bedroom, Andie stepped close. Warm fingers slipped under his T-shirt, brushing his stomach with an electrifying touch.

  Ryan pulled in a shaky breath. This wasn’t happening. Not tonight. He grabbed her fingers. “Brianne’s bed is big enough for both of us,” he forced out through tight lips. “But don’t touch me, not like that.”

  Her gaze skittered away. She bit her bottom lip.

  “Not tonight, Andie.” He cupped her face. Stared into wide blue eyes. “You’re in shock.”

  She climbed into the big bed soundlessly.

  Ryan shucked off his shoes, removed his jeans and slipped beneath the covers.

  Andie lay stiff as a board, staring at the ceiling. Tension crackled in the air. Without a signal, she’d stay like that all night, and neither of them would sleep.

  Ryan stretched an arm out in mute invitation. She turned, scooted close, resting one hand over his heart.

  The need to touch back was almost overwhelming. Instead, Ryan concentrated on relaxing, releasing the tension that locked his shoulders. In mere moments, Andie’s breathing steadied then slowed to long, regular breaths, as sleep claimed her.

  The whole scenario was so damned ironic.

  Ryan barely slept at the best of times. He was always on tenterhooks, half alert for trouble, and lying in a strange bed was guaranteed to spark insomnia into full blown life. The flat in London was the closest thing he had to home, and even there he woke every few hours in a cold sweat.

  And now, Andie was relying on him to help her sleep. As if he held the answers to a calm and peaceful night’s slumber. When in fact the complete opposite was true.

  The hotel in Bekostan the press used was luxurious. He’d had the same room for nearly a year now, and yet still hadn’t managed to make it through a complete night without waking with a nightmare. Since Emily’s murder, the recurring dream of being captured and tortured by shadowy figures had been a constant nocturnal visitor.

  When he slept with a woman, it was to banish the dreams. To lose himself in their bodies. Find peace, for a while. They were usually women like him—women looking for a distraction to get them through the night. Not women who lived in the sunshine, but ones who dwelled in the darker underworld of war zones, or women who wanted what his body could give theirs. Passion, release, but never love.

  He avoided relationships like the plague.

  Easing Andie’s slumbering body away, Ryan linked his hands behind his head on the pillow. Love was an illusion; he’d learned that the hard way. The moment you loved someone was the moment you handed them the power to hurt you. The image of his mother’s dull eyes and nightly crying jags when she thought they were asleep was testimony to that.

  He glanced at the soft waves of Andie’s hair, gleaming in the moonlight cast through the window. There had been feral want in her eyes in the sitting room. He’d known damn well what she was suggesting when she asked him to come upstairs, and known that if he gave her what she wanted, she’d regret it in the morning.

  She wasn’t like him. She was a woman who deserved more. One day, she’d doubtless find it too. A man who would love and cherish her. Not one who wouldn’t, couldn’t love her.

  Andie’s soft breath feathered across his shoulder. Ryan’s body tightened in response.

  Dammit! He was so attuned to every movement, so desperate for her, that his principles were in danger of drowning in the flood of desire that swept him.

  His chest rose and fell. He mimicked her breathing. Slow and regular. Andie’s hand brushed over his chest.

  He should push her hand away; tuck it back under the duvet.

  But he didn’t. If he couldn’t have any more, at least he’d have this.

  *****

  “Are you ever going to wake up?”

  Ryan registered the words through a fog of sleep, and cracked his eyes open.

  Andie stood by the bedside, clutching a cup. “I brought you some coffee.”

  “What time is it?” Ryan snatched the watch from the bedside table.

  “Almost eleven,” Andie answered. “I’ve been up for a couple of hours—you looked so peaceful I took pity on you and let you sleep.” A faint smile tilted her mouth up at the corners a tiny bit.

  Eleven? He hadn’t slept ‘til eleven since…

  Since ever.

  Ryan scooted up in bed, and accepted the coffee. “Thanks.” His mind was in a whirl. Not only had he slept through the night but he hadn’t woken once. Or had the dream. It must be because he was so exhausted.

  He pushed the niggling suspicion that it was anything more aside, and glanced at Andie. She wore a long dress in swirling blues and greens that dusted her calves and dipped low in the front. Her feet were bare, and her hair swung around her face. She looked incredibly wild and free and amazingly delicious.

  Ryan plumped up the pillow, and shifted to disguise his body’s unwelcome response. “What are you wearing?”

  “I borrowed something of your sister’s.” Andie’s skin flushed pink. “It’s not really my sort of thing, but her jeans…”

  “Too short?” Ryan asked.

  “Too short and too small.” Andie’s mouth curved in a grin, showcasing killer dimples. “Your sister must be tiny.”

  “She always was,” Ryan agreed.” “I used to call her Shorty.”

  “You didn’t!” Andie frowned. “That’s really mean.”

  “What can I say, I’m her older brother. That’s what older brothers do.”

  A flicker of sadness chased across Andie’s expressive face. “I would have liked a brother or sister. It was lonely growing up alone.”

  Ryan knew what she meant. He’d had his mother and Brianne, but after their father walked out, he’d felt alone. It hadn’t been easy relinquishing the role of brother, and taking on the mantle of man of the house. Organizing the shopping, making dinner and forcing his mother from the chair by the fire to eat yet another badly prepared pasta dish. Bri’d wanted to talk about his father’s new woman, but he hadn’t. The most important thing was that they survived. It had taken work, but they had.

  Before he had a chance to answer, Andie crossed her arms, showcasing her cleavage. “So, are you going to get up? I’m hungry, and there’s no food in the place at all. I’ve looked.”

  She was avoiding his eyes.

  He knew it would be like this, once reality returned. Once the fears of the darkness subsided in the light of dawn.

  Regret chased over him, washed down by a mouthful of coffee. “Give me a couple of minutes for a shower, and we’ll go into town.”

  With hair flowing in a blonde cloud around her face, and the colorful clothing, she looked different from yesterday, and was almost unrecognizable from the pictures in the paper where her blonde hair had been pulled back in a ponytail. There was still the possibility…

  “Maybe you should wear a hat or sunglasses or something.”

  Andie nodded. “I pulled out a hat and a jacket. They’re downstairs.” She turned for the door, casting a quick glance back as her fingers closed over the door handle. “Hurry up.”

  *****

  When she’d woken with Ryan’s chest under her palm, and her traitorous body curled around his, Andie had instantly felt the burning desire to run. The night before she’d flung caution to the wind, and herself at him. She’d never behaved so wildly before. The fact he turned her down, instead of bringing relief in the cold light of day, brought with it mortification. She’d grabbed her clothes, and dressed in the bathroom. Then dashed downstairs before he woke.

  I have to go home. The thought burned through Andie’s mind as she rinsed out her coffee cup. If only she could talk to someone. Someone she could trust.

  She dried her hands quickly on the tea towel from u
nder the sink, and rooted in her bag for her cell phone. A list of unanswered calls scrolled through the tiny screen, many from numbers that she didn’t recognize. One number populated the list more often than the rest. Suz.

  She dialed. “Suz, it’s me.”

  “Andie, where the hell are you?” Suz’s familiar tones poured down the line. Andie closed her eyes and let Suz’s concern wash over her.

  “I’m okay. I’m with…a friend.” She bit her lip. He was hardly a friend, but Suz sounded worried, and there’d be time enough to explain later.

  “That guy from the TV?” A moment of silence, then Suz continued, “It’s crazy here, Andie. The press is tracking down people who were with you at the funeral. They’re camped outside my house, and Jenny’s café too. Apparently the fact that the famous Emily Harte had a daughter is big news—they’re desperate to find out more.”

  Andie’s heart sank. She wanted to go home. Wanted to get away from Ryan and recover her equilibrium. “I know, they…”

  “I saw them hassling you on the news. You have to stay away. At least until things calm down a bit. They’re sharks,” Suz spat out. “Don’t come home, honey. I could barely hold my own with them, and you know what I’m like.”

  Suz was tough as nails. Had to be, to run the little school where Andie taught. Nothing ever intimidated her, so if she was advising staying away…

  “Are you still there, honey?” Suz’s voice softened. “Are you okay?”

  Andie made a split-second decision. “I’m fine. Ryan is looking after me. We’re somewhere they won’t find us. I’ll keep in touch.”

  There was a noise from the stairs. She swiveled to see Ryan stepping off the final stair. He was dressed in faded jeans that emphasized his lean thighs, with a black shirt stretched over a broad chest open to reveal the strong column of his neck.

  A flurry of tingles raced through her stomach as their eyes met.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow, Suz. If you need to get in touch leave me a message. I’m keeping the cell off, but I’ll check it tonight.” She faced Ryan. “I was just calling a friend. I knew she’d be worried.”

  Ryan nodded. “Let’s go.”

  No one even glanced their direction in the trucker’s café.

  All eyes were glued to the TV in the corner, but it was a football match that held the patron’s interest, not the news.

  Andie took off her sunglasses the moment they got inside, but left the rainbow beanie hat on. It wasn’t the sort of thing she’d ever buy, but wearing someone else’s clothes was liberating, and she’d decided to go with the flow. It made a change from her work uniform of sensible tailored trousers and shirts. At the weekends and holidays she usually dressed in jeans and T-shirts, throwing on a sweatshirt for warmth. Brianne’s floaty clothes and honeycomb sweaters made her feel like a completely different woman. She sort of liked it.

  Ryan’s strong fingers curled around his coffee cup.

  Andie squeezed her lips together, remembering the feel of those fingers curled around her own. She swallowed and glanced away. He wasn’t just a stranger she’d flirted with; he was part of a different world. She must remember that. This fascination with Ryan was dangerous. She wiped a piece of bread around her plate, soaking up all the juices from the Irish breakfast, and chewed.

  “Your mother—” Ryan started.

  “I don’t want to talk about my mother,” Andie interrupted.

  He had known her. Which was more than she had.

  “We worked together, I admired her,” Ryan continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

  Anger welled up. Why is this man so infuriating? Andie gritted her teeth. Breathed deep. Then plastered on a smile so fake it made her teeth hurt.

  “Look, Ryan.” She leant her elbows on the table and fixed him with a smile. “That’s nice, an’ all, but I told you, I don’t want to talk about her.”

  Once she would have been desperate to hear about Emily, the woman who’d given birth to her that she knew next to nothing about, from whatever source. Things had changed since she’d found and read the letters to her grandmother…

  “Tell me about something else.” A thought flittered through her mind. He’d been looking for her, when they met in the line for the roller-coaster. Why? “Why were you looking for me?”

  “I have your mother’s journals and diaries. I thought you would want them.”

  All roads led back to Emily Harte.

  Andie angled her head to her shoulder, ironing out the tension in her neck.

  “I didn’t know if your father was alive,” he said. “But the press called you her only relative, so…”

  “I have no idea if my father is alive either,” Andie parried back. “I guess if Emily had ever told me who he was, I might have, but she never did. She never stayed around long enough to be questioned about him either.” The words revealed too much. Andie swallowed the last of her coffee.

  Ryan’s deep voice was no louder than a murmur. “My mother is dead too. It’s just Brianne and me.” He pushed his plate away. “She was killed in a car crash when I was twenty and Bri was eighteen.”

  “I’m sorry.” At least Andie had her grandmother, and Emily hadn’t been dead, only absent. “Your father...”

  Ryan’s jaw tightened. “My father isn’t in the picture. He left when we were young.” His gaze tangled with hers, and the banked pain evident in their depths took her breath away.

  “After Mum died, the police visited and brought her effects.” His mouth thinned. The hand on the table clenched into a tight fist. “It was difficult, opening that parcel and seeing my mother’s wedding ring, and what remained of her clothes.” He swallowed. “I didn’t want you to receive Emily’s belongings through the post. I thought it might be easier if someone was with you.”

  He’d crossed the world to deliver something to someone he’d never even met.

  Andie swallowed.

  She’d been treating him as a pariah, apart from the times when she’d been trying to lure him into bed, to use him to hide from the unwelcome thoughts that barreled into her like cannon-shot. He was a nice guy. One who didn’t deserve the treatment she’d meted out.

  Shame made her restless, and she shifted on the cool plastic chair, and linked her ankles. “So, you came straight here? From Bekostan?”

  Ryan nodded. “I flew into Heathrow, hired a car and drove straight out.”

  She had to stay with him. All of her other friends were in Fullstowe, and by all accounts the entire village was besieged.

  Andie breathed in. “I didn’t know my mother, not really,” she explained. “She was always away, and on the times she came home…”

  “She found it difficult to settle?”

  Andie thought for a moment. Was that it? Emily was always distracted whenever she returned to England. Always scanning the newspaper and watching the twenty-four hour news channels for snippets of information on Bekostan. “I always thought she was bored, you know, being at home with me.”

  She’d never felt good enough, worthy of a mother’s love. Emily’s dedication to her job had felt like a desertion, a slap in the face.

  “The troubles in Bekostan pull you in,” Ryan said in a deep voice. “Reporting on conflict is hard for some people. It was for your mother. She lived so closely with the people, felt their pain, I think she found it pretty difficult to stay detached. In the face of misery, everything here can seem so superficial. You must know that from your mother’s articles, and her TV reports.”

  Andie looked down at her plate. “I never read any. Or saw any of her reports.”

  Her grandmother had been adamant that Andie wasn’t to watch any of Emily’s reports. She’d been so over-protective that she’d created a wall of ignorance between the two of them. Gran had always warned Andie not to tell of the troubles she had in school, the teasing about having a grandmother attend sports day rather than a fit mother or father to run the egg and spoon race with.

  “Mummy’s only here for a few days,
Darling, don’t bother her with that,” Gran had whispered as her mother arrived. “I’ll talk to teacher, we’ll get it sorted.”

  So Emily had been presented with a picture of a happy life. One where everything was under control—and a daughter who, although aloof, was well cared for and happy.

  Gran, by the same means, had brushed away any concerns Andie might have had about Emily’s safety.

  “Mum’s fine, Andie. She’d doing an important job—too important to come home for a while. I know it would be nice to have her home more often, but she has to work to pay the bills, do you see?”

  The child Andie had nodded. Understood that her mother had to be on the other side of the world for her job.

  And when Emily visited and was distracted, a stabbing pain had forced through Andie’s chest as she burned with the knowledge that Emily found even her job more interesting than staying at home with her mother and daughter.

  When Andie was grown up, Gran was always beside her on the sofa in the evenings. It would have been cruel to insist on watching Emily’s reports when Gran was so determined not to.

  Now, it was too late. A vision of the news report replayed, and she pushed it away. She couldn’t think of the way Emily’d died, couldn’t….

  “So, you’ve brought me her journals.”

  “Yes, and her diaries, a whole bundle of stuff.” Ryan’s mouth was set in a tight line, and parallel lines scored between his eyebrows.

  Andie read scorn in his eyes. Tinged with disapproval.

  She was grateful for his actions, grateful for his concern, but he knew nothing of Emily’s uncaring disregard, and he wouldn’t understand if she bothered to explain.

  She forced a tight smile, and pretended she hadn’t picked up on the unspoken accusation that blazed from his eyes. “It was good of you to think like that. Caring. Thank you.” Her spine stiffened.

  Ryan picked the bill up from the table. Avoided her eyes. “Ready to go?”

  They left the café, and walked to the car. Andie fastened her seat belt then touched his arm. “I’m sorry I snapped about my mother. It’s just difficult.”