Нора Робертс - The Perfect Hope

She didn’t think about leaning in, but her body did. To stop it, she pressed a hand on his chest. Was his heart a little unsteady? She thought it might be. Maybe she only hoped it, so she wouldn’t be alone.

“She trapped Owen and Avery in E&D,” Hope remembered. “She wanted them to …” Kiss. To discover each other. “She’s a romantic.”

Ryder stepped back, and the moment broke like glass. “Right now she’s a nuisance.”

The window he’d opened closed quietly on its own.

“I’d say she’s making a statement.” Calmer now, steadier as he seemed less so, Hope pushed at her hair. “Oh for God’s sake, Ryder, just kiss me. It won’t kill you, and then she’ll let us out of here.”

“Maybe I don’t like having women—dead ones or live ones—maneuver me.”

“Believe me, kissing you isn’t going to be the highlight of my day, but I have guests arriving any minute. Or.” She pulled out her phone. “I’m calling Owen.”

“You’re not calling Owen.”

She got him now. Having one of his brothers come over to let them out? Mortifying. Kissing her, she calculated, was the lesser of two evils. Amused, she smiled at him. “You can close your eyes and think of England.”

“Funny.” He stepped over, braced a hand on either side of her head. “This is because I’ve wasted enough time, and I want a cold beer.”

“Fine.”

He leaned down, hovered a moment, a breath from her lips.

Don’t think, she ordered herself. Don’t react. It’s nothing.

It’s nothing.

It was heat and light, and oh, that surge again from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. He didn’t touch her, but for that mouth against mouth, and she had to curl her hands at her sides to stop herself from reaching out. Grabbing on, dragging him in.

She let herself slide, couldn’t resist it, as the kiss spun out.

He’d meant to do no more than brush his lips to hers. As he might to a friend, an aunt, a plump middle-aged woman with a couple of grandkids.

But he sank into it, too deep. The taste of her, the scent, the feel of her lips yielding to his.

Not sweet, not sharp, but something mysteriously between. Something uniquely Hope.

It—she—stirred him more than it should. More than he wanted.

Stepping back from her cost brutal effort.

He stared back at her for a beat, for two. Then she let out a breath, uncurled her hand, tried the knob.

“There.” She opened the door. “It worked.”

“Get moving before she changes her mind.”

The minute they were in the hall, he walked straight to the now cheerfully burning light, lifted the globe from the floor, fixed it on.

“Done.” He stood where he was, gave her another long look.

She started to speak, and the doorbell pealed.

“My guests are here. I need to—”

“I’ll go out the back.”

She nodded, hurried downstairs.

He listened to the clip of her heels on wood, let himself take a breath.

“Don’t pull that crap again,” he said. With his dog faithfully at his heels, Ryder walked away, out of the scent of honeysuckle and Hope.

GRABBING PRIVATE TIME PRESENTED A CHALLENGE, BUT a woman needed the ear and input of her female friends. Hope grabbed what she could the next day in the window after preparing breakfast for guests and before Vesta opened.

She dashed across Main Street a few minutes after ten, and straight into the restaurant. Clare and Avery already sat at a table, studying Avery’s potential wedding dress, again, on the iPad.

“I brought muffins.” Hope dropped the little basket on the table, tossed back the cheerful red napkin. “Blueberry, still warm from the oven. Thanks for being here.”

“You made it sound urgent.” Avery took a sniff, went mmm, grabbed a muffin.

“It’s not urgent. It’s just a thing. I know you’re busy.”

“Never too busy. Sit down,” Clare told her. “You look frazzled, and you never do.”

“I’m not. Exactly. Just …” With a shake of her head, Hope sat. “I’ve been having trouble with a couple of the lights,” she began, and ran them through the story.

“It’s like what she did with Owen and me. It’s kind of sweet, in a weird way.”

“It’s not sweet. It’s infuriating. And he actually opened the window, considered climbing out.”

“Of course he did.”

Hope goggled at Clare. “Of course?”

“Not of course that was the answer, but of course he considered it. It’s a guy thing.” Amused, but supportive, Clare patted Hope’s arm. “I have three sons, I know guy things.”

“She really does,” Avery confirmed.

“It’s just stupid, especially since we both had our phones. I wanted to call Owen or Beckett, or the fire department.”

“Which is sensible, and a girl thing—and a last resort, probably when starvation threatened, for a guy.”

“Well, it’s just stupid,” Hope repeated. “Anyway, I’d just had it, and I gave him a piece of my mind.”

“Now it’s getting good.” Avery rubbed her hands together.

“He’s rude and surly, never uses my actual name. He treats me like I’m a pain in his ass, and I’m not.”

“Of course you’re not,” Clare soothed.

“I do my job and keep out of his way. And what do I get? A curled lip and insults, when he bothers to acknowledge I exist.”

“Maybe he’s got a thing for you,” Avery suggested. “So he gives you grief or ignores you.”

“Oh.” Hope sat back, nodded. “That could be it. If we were eight. I said he was snotty, which he is—to me. And he said I was snooty. I am not snooty.”

“You’re anything but. But …”

Hope narrowed her eyes at Clare. “But?”

“I think some people, wrongly, assume really beautiful women are. Snooty.”

“That’s snotty and snobby. But thanks. Oh! And he snarked on my shoes.”

“Dangerous territory,” Avery murmured.

“It sounds like you needed to clear the air,” Clare began.

“Well, we didn’t clear it, unless you equate that with both of us knowing just where we stand.”

“How did you get out?” Avery wondered.

“That’s the rest.” Hope pointed a finger. “I thought of just what you said before. How she pulled this on you and Owen. So I said he should kiss me, and he got snotty about that. I mean, honestly, what’s the big deal? He did it before and managed to survive, so—”

“Wait a minute, wait.” Avery twirled her fingers in the air. “Rewind. Ryder kissed you?”

“It was nothing.”

“We’ll be the judge of that. When did this happen?”

“It was just a … nothing. New Year’s Eve. We happened to run into each other in Owen’s kitchen right at the countdown. It was awkward, and I guess we both felt it would be more awkward if we didn’t. So we did. It was nothing.”

“You keep saying it was nothing.” Clare considered. “Which makes it sound like something. Especially since you didn’t tell us before.”

“Because it was no—” Hope caught herself. “It didn’t matter. I forgot about it. My point is, it was just a device, like New Year’s Eve. We’re dealing with a romantically inclined ghost, which sounds enormously silly, but it is what it is. So we did, and the door opened. Then the bell rang, I had guests arriving. I went down, he went out.”

“I must repeat. Rewind. You kissed Ryder, again.”

“I might have murdered him if we hadn’t gotten out of that room. Kissing seemed less bloody.”

“So how was it?”

Hope pushed up, circled around. “He’s got skills. And I’m in a dry spell. I’m in a desert. I’m fine with the desert, but it’s a desert nonetheless.”

“You felt something for him,” Clare prompted.

“I felt something,” Hope qualified. “He’s good at it, and the desert is dry. Now I’ve kissed him, twice. We can barely have a civil conversation—scratch that—we can’t have one, and I’ve kissed him twice. So now it’s a situation. Isn’t it?”

“I’m going to let Clare take this one,” Avery decided, “except for saying the only situation I see is two healthy, unencumbered adults who are both more attractive than they have a right to be engaging in a little enjoyable physical contact.”

“But we don’t even like each other. And he’s one of my employers.”

“You’d like each other fine if you’d give each other a chance. And he’s not your boss. Justine’s your boss. And I still say you’re edgy around each other because you’re attracted to each other.”

Clare poked Avery in the arm. “I thought you were going to let me take this one.”

“Oh yeah. Take it away.”

“Thank you.” Clare looked over at Hope. “Ditto. More or less.”

Hope sat again. “I agree Justine’s my boss, but don’t you think Ryder considers himself my boss, too?”

“No, and I think he’d be annoyed if you did.”

Avery furrowed her brow, gruffed up her voice. “I’ve got enough to deal with, for Christ’s sake, without being the boss of you. You’re my mother’s problem.”

Hope laughed, felt the tension at the back of her neck dissolve. “That sounds just like him, in content anyway. So what am I worried about? It wasn’t a way into a situation. It was a way out of a situation.”

“Let’s focus on that a minute.” Avery wiggled down in her chair. “During the way out of the situation, were tongues involved?”

“Avery.” Laughing, Clare shook her head, then reconsidered. “Actually … were there?”

With a cat-in-the-cream smile, Hope tucked her hair behind her ear. “You’ve both known me long enough to know if I’m going to do something, I do it right.”

“I admire that about you,” Avery said. “Where were his hands?”

“On the door, he kept them off me. I was against the door, so—”

“Mmmmm. Don’t you love against the door?” Avery asked Clare.

“A personal favorite. Too bad about the hands, though. I bet he’s got good ones. I think it runs in the family.”