A Fourth of July Proposal, page 19
And she wouldn’t even care.
Once they were in the crowd, he took both her hands and put them on his shoulders. Those shoulders were firm and warm, well muscled, and she felt her belly start to shimmy again. Then he put his hands on her hips, and she almost stopped breathing.
He leaned his head down so she could hear him over the music.
“Relax. Follow me.”
As if she would say no to him.
Ryker could dance. He was good at it. Rachel was on the dance floor, and Ryker was dancing with her, and suddenly the world was upside down.
They danced for a couple of songs before the first karaoke singer was ready. Rachel hated to stop. The chance to be this close to Ryker, touching him while he moved her hips, showing her body how to move to the beat of the music, would be a dream come true if she’d ever dreamed anything this amazing.
She needed to dream higher, or nothing was going to top this.
The dancing crowd dispersed as the first karaoke singer stepped forward. Rachel’s friends found them and brought a couple more people along with them. They hung around together and applauded the first singer, who was good. The DJ played another song, and Ryker went to find her more water instead of asking her to dance.
Rachel reminded herself to not be stupid. Maybe dreaming higher was not the answer.
The next singer was bad. Truly awful. But he was having fun, and the crowd cheered him on. The next music break Rachel excused herself to go to the restroom, to be sure she didn’t allow herself to even think about dancing with Ryker again.
Two hours passed in a lot of fun. Some members of what had become their group would sing karaoke, and they’d cheer them on. When a dance song was played, they started to dance as a group, which helped Rachel control her expectations.
Ryker was asked to dance by a few women, and Rachel refused to be disappointed when he left with them. But he always returned, making sure she had water to drink. Rather like a chaperone, she gloomed.
Rachel had not become any more enamored of Cliff, since he tried to lecture her on music any chance he got. She couldn’t understand why he’d want to spend time with her if she was as idiotic as his conversation indicated he thought her to be.
The DJ announced the final song, a slow number. Rachel could see Cliff turning to ask her to dance. She scrambled to find a polite way to say no when a strong hand grabbed hers and tugged her toward the center of the floor.
Ryker pulled her into his arms, and she forgot everything else.
“Thanks.” Her voice was breathless. But she was held against the firm body of Ryker Slade and her teenage self was speechless. Her adult self was almost as bad.
“I didn’t think you wanted to dance with him, and you’d be too nice to tell him that.”
She couldn’t be disappointed by that. He was being nice.
But her face must have shown something, because he added, “And I like dancing with you.”
Part of her brain wanted to argue about the whole nice label, and that she had been planning to find a way to say no, but she was so happy to be dancing with Ryker instead of Cliff that nothing was going to pull her down. She let the comment drift away.
She didn’t know how to slow dance any more than she knew how to fast dance, but he was holding her, and she just had to follow his lead. She kept her gaze on his chest, afraid of what her face might reveal if she looked at him. He was wearing a button-up shirt, and she could see the hint of a T-shirt and a tattoo where the buttons opened near his throat. She wondered what the tattoo was. She wondered if she’d ever see it.
She wondered if she should be talking, but she couldn’t think of anything to say beyond Please never stop.
She wasn’t so crazy as to not know that she couldn’t say that.
The music came to an end, unfortunately. Ryker released her, and she held back a protest. She followed him to rejoin the group they’d been with most of the night.
Later, she’d be happy that she’d found friends. They’d talked about meeting up again for a Sunday brunch. She wasn’t sure if she could manage that, what with church, but she was making a life for New Rachel.
Yes, that was all food for thought...later.
Now, though, she was floating on cloud Ryker. It was a bad place to be, and she’d hit earth soon enough, but she was going to let herself enjoy the ride while it lasted.
They said their goodbyes and talked again about plans to meet up. Rachel nodded and smiled and hardly heard a thing.
Then Ryker waited for her to precede him out the door, and she found herself heading down the hallway, promising to fill in the questionnaire again, definitely and for sure, and then out the door.
Out where the air was cool and real life came rushing back. Ryker walked her to her car, and she knew he’d make sure she was safely on her way before he headed back on his bike.
The magical night was about to end. She pushed the thought aside, unwilling to taint a single moment.
She just needed to unlock the car, turn and say good-night to Ryker without wrapping herself around him, and then she’d be driving home in the dark, free to relive every moment.
She reached for the car door when a hand came down on top of hers. His hand. It clasped hers, and slowly turned her back to face him.
She blinked and looked up, wondering what was wrong. His free hand gripped her waist and pulled her close.
The shimmies and jitters and goose bumps all broke out as he leaned his head down. She stopped breathing, sure that she’d somehow wandered into one of her dreams.
Then his lips touched hers.
* * *
RYKER HAD NO IDEA what he was doing.
Just like back in high school. Fourteen years ago.
Back then some part of his brain, the part that wasn’t totally self-destructive, had prodded him to get some tutoring, suggesting that graduating high school would be a smart thing. Fate had given him Rachel as a tutor.
She was sweet. Kind. So earnest. And it wasn’t hard for him to recognize that she had a crush on him.
It had amused him, at first. He hadn’t shared it with his friends, knowing how they’d make fun of her. He and Rachel were so opposite that he couldn’t understand why she’d see anything appealing in him. But he found himself looking forward to the tutoring sessions. He even began to imagine seriously graduating from high school, getting more education. Becoming more like Rachel.
Then one of his teachers had kicked him out of class and promised to fail him. He hadn’t been able to complete an assignment. His dad had been on the rampage the previous night. He’d started to rip up the homework Ryker and his sisters were doing at the kitchen table, so he’d shoved his toward his dad and swiped his sisters onto the floor where they could rescue it later.
It wasn’t an excuse he could offer his teacher. After all, he was one of the Slades.
Those dreams of his were never going to happen. He wasn’t going to get a high school diploma. There was no point in getting tutored in English when the other classes were all going to be failures. There wasn’t going to be anything after high school.
He should have told Rachel he was quitting. That had been his plan. He wasn’t a complete jerk. But when he’d said he had something to tell her, she’d looked so...hopeful. And for once, he’d wanted something nice for himself. So he’d kissed her.
She responded, enthusiastically and without any skill. She’d had no restraint, no sense of how much trouble she was asking for. Some slice of decency had made him stop and push her away.
He might not be going anywhere, but she was, if he didn’t mess it up for her.
Then he’d dropped out of school, and never seen her again until a few weeks ago.
He knew she was interested in him again. He wasn’t any better for her than he’d been all those years ago, but he’d assumed that crush would fade over time, since other women found him less interesting as they got to know him better. Example: his two marriages.
In the meantime, he’d enjoyed helping her. It had been nice to spend time with someone who liked him. That was part of Rachel’s nature. And paying her back, at least a bit, by teaching her to ride his motorcycle and doing some strong-arm work at the bazaar, that had all been a way to apologize for his teenage behavior.
She was still talking about leaving Carter’s, and he had no intention of staying, so he hadn’t seen any danger in the two of them spending time together. Danger to his own expectations of what he could have in his future.
Not until these singles events, when he had to face other men being attracted to Rachel.
He understood. She didn’t think men noticed her. Her physical appearance wasn’t dramatic and eye catching, but she was pretty. In a restrained, quiet, nice way that he knew she’d never appreciate. But he did, and so did these guys.
And that was what was right for Rachel. Some nice guy, without an ugly history; someone who wasn’t carrying around an addiction and divorces and a family that should scare any sane woman.
He’d known he didn’t need to dance with Rachel. And that he shouldn’t. But she’d been standing there, enjoying the music, looking wistful...and he wanted to make her happy. He’d actually thought he might be the guy who could...for a few moments.
He’d been smart enough to avoid the next dance, and she’d caught on and avoided the one following that. And then they’d been group dancing, and he’d gone to dance with other women, the ones that were his type. Flashy, troubled and trouble.
When that last dance was announced, Ryker had seen the guy who wanted to ask her to dance. The music snob. She had, too. She’d stilled, bit her lip. Ryker could see the way her shoulders slackened as if she’d made the decision not to say no, even though she wanted to.
The guy had only talked about himself all night. He was a self-absorbed blowhard. But Rachel was too nice to say no.
Ryker had grabbed her hand, pulled her into the dance to give her an out. And he’d enjoyed it too much. He’d imagined doing this again, in the future.
She felt good in his arms. Nice. She hated that word, but to him, it was everything he’d been denied, and he found himself soaking it up whenever he was with her. Having her that close had filled a hole in him he’d never managed to deal with in all his life.
He’d told himself he’d make sure she got to her car without the blowhard bothering her. He’d be just possessive enough to make the guy back off. So that Rachel wouldn’t have to be nice and say yes to the guy when she didn’t want to.
He’d liked that slow dance too much. And she had, too. He could see it on her face, in the way she carried herself.
He needed to tell her that he was no good for her and would only get in the way of her getting the life she deserved. The way he should have in high school. He was an adult now. He needed to deal with things. That was part of the purpose of AA. Not avoiding.
But when she looked up at him, expression exposed under the illumination of the parking lot light, he’d felt that same urge he had fourteen years ago. Hope, as if he could deserve these nice things, not destroy them. A chance to touch Rachel, kiss her, a chance to believe that things could be better.
So instead of telling her they shouldn’t spend time together, making her face fall with disappointment, he pulled her close and kissed her.
She came willingly, melting into him.
Her lips were soft and welcoming. She was tentative. He liked that she didn’t have the experience most of the women he’d known did. She followed his lead, pushing up on tiptoes to grip his shoulders, the way she had when they were dancing.
For a few precious minutes he let himself enjoy it. The way his body warmed from contact with her. The way his heart beat faster as her lips moved on his. The peace that flooded his mind when his thoughts were limited to the softness of her lips, the texture of her hair in his hand, the breathy moan that filled his ears.
And for just a moment he thought...maybe.
But the chatter of people leaving the building, heading to their cars, broke into the bubble.
He pulled himself away from her. His breath was coming hard, and he could see her chest rising. She raised her hand to her lips.
He had to tell her this was a mistake. He had to turn off that light in her face. He knew better. She deserved better. Why had he indulged himself at her expense?
This was not one of the choices he should make.
He was no better than he’d been at seventeen.
He needed a drink.
Just like returning to his home had dug up the old responses to deal with problems, so had this revisit of his past.
He had to get out of here. He had to call his old sponsor, find a meeting. Because hurting her was inexcusable, and it woke the monster inside.
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Hands shaking, he turned for his bike.
He might have set a record for getting his helmet and gloves on. Then the engine throbbed between his legs. He pushed the bike forward, put it in gear.
When he was on his bike, he had to focus on the road and the other drivers who wouldn’t see him. He couldn’t dwell on her face, on her lips, on the way he thought he could be better when he was around her.
My name is Ryker, and I’m an alcoholic. That was who he was. And he wasn’t going to make three years sober if he didn’t get help. Now.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
RACHEL WATCHED RYKER FLEE. There was no other way to describe it. He kissed her and fled like wolves were after him. Or maybe ghosts.
The ghosts of Rachel’s bad kisses.
She couldn’t believe it had happened again. But the look as he’d left? Yeah, that wasn’t the look of a guy who wanted to kiss her anymore.
Why had he kissed her? And then why had he left?
Because for her, that kiss had been something.
Prior to this, his high school kiss had always ranked as her best kiss. Best on her side at least. It couldn’t have been that great for him.
But she’d kissed guys since. Guys who had kissed her more than once. She’d even done online research on what constituted a bad kiss. She didn’t think she was too messy, or spitty, or whatever.
But now was not the time to dwell on it. Before someone recognized her and wanted to talk, she got into her car, slammed the door and drove out of the parking lot.
She bit her lip, blinking back tears. Because this kiss had been even better than the high school one. For a few minutes she’d felt pretty, safe...loved. Again. But it was an illusion.
At least as far as Ryker was concerned. She was afraid that she’d fallen, hard.
* * *
HOPE WAGED A WAR with common sense. Maybe she’d just imagined the look on his face. Maybe he’d remembered an appointment he had to go to. Maybe they’d still have motorcycle lessons, and she’d help him with the house and they’d work on the website and...
And nothing. Because common sense was much smarter than hope. And with each day that went by that she didn’t hear anything from Ryker, hope lost more ground in the battle against common sense.
Tuesday evening with Jaycee and Mariah, she told them about the musical night, without mentioning the dances with Ryker or the kiss. Hope still held out enough of a possibility that she wasn’t heartbroken, not quite. Her eyes were dry, and she spoke normally—enough that no one looked at her sideways.
But Jaycee asked if Ryker had been there.
Mariah answered. “He already sent me his impressions. He had to go out of town for a few days.”
Mariah didn’t even look up from her checklist. She assumed Rachel knew this.
Hope gave up the struggle. Ryker was gone. He might come back to Cupid’s Crossing, but he wasn’t coming back to Rachel.
Why had she ever thought he would? She could change what she wore and ride a motorcycle, but she was still just Rachel.
But no. She’d had interest from a couple of guys at those singles events. She was interesting, at least interesting enough for some people.
Just not for Ryker. At least, not enough to stay. Not enough to work through difficult things. She wasn’t an idiot; she knew he came with problems. Problems that would take a lot to resolve.
She could help people in town see how he’d changed, but she couldn’t make him see himself. And she could only help as much as he’d allow.
He wasn’t allowing anything now.
Mariah had a new project for the town, making a video series about the renovation of the mill, something to keep people interested in what was going on in Carter’s Crossing. No, the renovated mill was for Cupid’s Crossing. The singles idea would have to wait.
Rachel was relieved.
With a six-week countdown to Jaycee’s wedding, the clock was ticking, and Rachel threw herself into helping with plans. She sent out her résumé to several places in towns a few hours’ drive away. She started looking at apartment listings. She got together with some of her new friends from singles nights, though she begged off attending another singles event because there was no point.
No point in looking at other men, not right now.
She refused to let herself cry. Crying would mean that she’d felt something real for Ryker and she couldn’t allow that. She would cop to being a pushover, to being nice, to trying to earn affection and attention by helping people. She was not stupid, though, and falling in love with a man who’d never even asked her out, and who’d twice fled after she kissed him, was beyond stupid.
She wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t. And if sometimes, late at night she suspected her intelligence might be overrated, she got up and searched for more jobs and apartments because she was not going to cry.
She was doing so well that she almost convinced herself. Then came the news.
Rachel had been out of town for dress fittings. With the last-minute nature of Jaycee’s wedding, the bridesmaids had had to scavenge for dresses in the right color. At least style-wise they could do as they wished.
