Pink Satin

Greer smiled. “No. Because I…” Her finger slowly traced the rim of the wineglass. Facing the goblins was always the best way. The kiss was still bothering her, and so was her emotional reaction to him. “Friendships are hard to come by. Know that?” she said abruptly.

“Are they?”

“Friendships with members of the opposite sex. Relationships are easy to fall into, friendships less so.” Greer paused again. “I value friendships a great deal,” she said quietly.

He couldn’t help but get the message. Ryan swallowed the last of his wine and set down the glass, his eyes enigmatically dark in the shadowed hall. “You have a man in your life you’re serious about?”

“No. I just don’t…rush into any kind of involvement. Ever.”

“Still feeling burned from your ex-husband?”

“It’s not that.” At all, Greer thought fleetingly. She would never again be so naive as to fall for a man who wanted a mother. Over the past year, though, she’d been increasingly aware of the itsy-bitsy paradox she’d made of her life. On the one hand, she’d tried a relationship in which she was the main caretaker, and it had failed miserably. On the other hand, she never allowed men close unless she exerted exactly those same controls. The old resentment over being treated like prey and used like a sex object refused to disappear. Yet only occasionally, she felt this restless loneliness…a foolish thing. She had plenty of male friends. “How on earth did we get talking about this?” she asked abruptly. “Of all the silly subjects…”

Ryan leaned over to refill her glass before she could get up. “One more,” he coaxed.

“Well…”

She was smiling sleepily by the time he poured the third glass. She was smiling like a woman who badly needed a pillow and a soft mattress…and a man to cuddle against. Ryan mentally groaned. The lady was beginning to drive him bananas.

She hadn’t told him so, but he had the definite impression she was wary of physical relationships and he couldn’t fathom it-unless her ex-husband had been an insensitive jerk in bed. The vibrations didn’t feel that way to him, though. When he looked at her, he didn’t see a woman who’d been hurt sexually; he saw a woman who hadn’t been sexually awakened at all.

He suspected that was sheer male wishful thinking on his part. He couldn’t get one thought out of his head: he wished he’d been her first lover. Her only lover. He’d even been jealous of the wall, the way she’d stroked the paint on it. Every damn movement she made was sensual, graceful. The way she pushed back her hair, the way she curled her bare toes; she had small hands that waved expressively when she was talking.

The old sweatshirt and baggy jeans were supposed to conceal the most alluring figure he’d ever laid eyes on. They failed. Her breasts were firm and full, her long legs sleek and feminine, her hips delectably curved, her tummy flat. And no, dammit, it really wasn’t just her looks that were driving him nuts. It was Greer. The inside-lady Greer. The sensual woman who was hiding for some unknown reason behind bread-baking sprees.

And from the number of men calling her, she could probably open a successful bakery.

“Ryan.”

She was suddenly wearing an exasperated frown. He’d been expecting it, and smiled to himself at the groggy look in her eyes.

“I hate to have to confess this, but I’m not absolutely sure I can get up. Do you know how very rarely I drink three glasses of wine in a row?” Greer asked.

“But then, home’s right next door,” Ryan observed. “And thanks to the wine, you’re going to sleep terrifically tonight.” He stood up and offered his hands to her.

She took them and let him pull her up. The wine hadn’t made her dizzy, just sleepy. Her eyelids were having a dreadful problem staying open. “We really should finish painting your room,” she mentioned idly.

“Tomorrow.”

“The cat-”

“I’ll get him, Greer.”

“This is embarrassing.” Her feet just didn’t want to get into synchrony, and one hip bumped Ryan’s.

“What’s embarrassing? You’re not trying to impress a bunch of high-class company. We’re neighbors.”

Greer obediently slumped her head against his shoulder as he steered her toward the door. “That’s right.” She yawned. “Just neighbors.”

She sounded ridiculously happy at the thought. Thoroughly irritated, Ryan paused at her door and had a short internal debate with his conscience. His conscience lost. He didn’t really intend to take advantage of her, anyway, but they had to clear up this little difference of opinion on neighbors and…neighbors.

“Thank you,” she murmured when he pushed open the door for her. “I think I could sleep for a year.”

“Greer?”

“Hmm?” she smiled sleepily up at him.

“I owe you a thank-you for helping.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes,” he insisted. “And since you offered me a neighborly hug last night as a thank-you, I know you won’t mind if I offer you a simple neighborly kiss-” He waited for an imperceptible second. Long enough to appease his grumbling conscience.

Greer’s eyes flew wide open, but a second wasn’t enough time to gather her scattered wits. Long arms slid under hers, drawing her close to a warm, bare chest with dried paint speckles on it. For some reason, she was staring at those paint speckles when he tilted up her chin.

A warm mouth molded itself over her lips. A light was suddenly too bright somewhere. Greer’s eyes closed. Her head tilted helplessly back. His lips wooed hers gently, a tease of lightness and then pressure, a trace of wine tasted between them that could have been hers…or his.

Her hands rose and then seemed to hover in midair until his claimed them and gave them a home on his shoulders. It was a mistake, touching his skin. A who-cares kind of mistake. He had wonderful skin, warm and resilient, smooth on his shoulders, muscled on his arms.

She felt as though she’d stepped into a different world. She’d only stepped into the man, moved closer…or he had. He wasn’t like John. He wasn’t anything like the dozens of men she’d kissed in the past few years, who offered kisses with a tentative smile, prepared for with cleared throats and organized settings and shy expectations. She’d freely returned those kinds of kisses, for all those men.

Not one of them had threatened her. Not one of them had given her a single reason to believe she couldn’t control the situation if she wanted to.

And not a damn one of them had known what he was doing, but she hadn’t realized that until now. Ryan took her mouth the way a storm hit on a summer day-languid sunshine one minute, lightning the next. Restlessly, Greer stirred, uncertain what to do with a suddenly cloud-fogged brain. The barometer of her pulse kept dropping, and then his tongue slipped between her parted teeth. Her skin heated up wherever he touched.

Hands slid up and down her back, soothing, gentle. One set of fingers of one hand stole into her hair, cupping her head. Another slid languorously down her spine to the curve of her hips. His touch said mine, as if he were identifying every vertebra that belonged to him, slowly, as if it were a secret. His secret.

He’d set a match to dry tinder. She couldn’t in a thousand years have explained her response. She felt protected in his arms as she’d never in her life felt protected. It wasn’t just a sexual sensation, she told herself. And knew darn well it was the sexiest sensation she’d ever felt in her life.

Ryan’s lips lingered and then gradually lifted. When she finally raised her eyes she found his staring down at her. Blue. A firelit blue. He wasn’t breathing well. “Just a simple thank-you between neighbors,” he said gruffly. “The same thing you offered me yesterday. Just…a natural expression of affection. Right, Greer?”

“I-”

“You need sleep. I’ll bring the cat.”

His arms were suddenly gone. She was just standing there, weak in the knees. Thirty seconds later, he dropped a cat in her arms. A purring cat.

That man, she thought dizzily, was…tricky.

***