“He’s dead,” he said curtly. “Nothing you can say or do or feel or think will bring him back. If the mention of the word wedding has that kind of effect on you...”
“It doesn’t, normally,” she shot back. “I haven’t been eating properly and I’m just weak!”
“And touchy,” he added. “After six months, still touchy and nervous and overwrought.”
“I have a right to be,” she said angrily. “I loved him!” she said. Maybe if she said it enough, she could make herself believe that she had, that she hadn’t cheated her husband because of what she’d felt for Ryder.
He didn’t say anything. He just stared at her, his face pasty under his tan, his eyes fierce and intent.
“I did!” she cried. “I did, I did!”
She put her face in her hands and the tears came, hot under her fingers. “I can’t live like this,” she whispered brokenly.
“You can, and you will.” He lifted her off the sofa, holding her firmly with both hands. “This has got to stop. Six months is long enough to grieve. You’re going to start living again.”
“That sounds like a threat. What are you going to do, take me on as a new construction project?” she challenged tearfully. “Remodel me? Renovate me?”
“Something like that,” he said absently. He whipped out a handkerchief and mopped her up, his fingers deft and sure on her pale face. “Now stop wailing. It upsets me.”
“Nothing upsets you,” she said, obediently blowing her red nose. “Well, maybe little things do,” she corrected. She smiled faintly. “Like the day your car kept cutting off in traffic and you drove it back to the construction site and dropped a wrecking ball right through the windshield.”
He chuckled. “Damn it, good enough for it. I’d had it in three different shops and nobody could fix it.”
“I’d love to hear what you told the insurance company.”
“I didn’t call the insurance company, I just bought another car,” he said. “From another manufacturer,” he added, grinning.
“It must be lovely, to have that kind of money.”
“I can’t eat it,” he said lazily. “Or drink it. Or snuggle up to it on a cold winter night. I could use it for wallpaper, of course, or make cigarettes out of it...”
“You’re nuts.”
“Thanks, I’m crazy about you, too. How about breakfast, before I starve to death? Carrying you in here used up my last few ounces of strength.”
She laughed helplessly. “All right. Come on, bottomless pit.” She frowned suddenly. “You said you ate on the plane...?”
“When it left Germany,” he replied. “And I’m starving. My God, airlines need to consider hardworking men and pregnant women when they serve food!”
“You’re obviously a hardworking man, since you’d hardly qualify as the other...hey!”
He made a vicious swipe at her posterior, and she jumped clear just in time with a shocked laugh.
“No fighting at the table, children,” Jean said, wagging a finger at them, “or I’ll hide the food.”
A corner of Ryder’s mouth tugged down as he glared at Ivy, who’d retreated to a strategic position behind her mother.
“All right. She’s safe. For now.” The way he said it, and the look in his pale eyes, made Ivy melt inside. But she had to pretend that she wasn’t affected. She turned away, making a joke of it, and refused to take him seriously.
She had to forget what had happened out on the porch. It was disloyal to Ben. She didn’t deserve to be happy. She wouldn’t let herself have Ryder, even if he was finally within her reach, because she’d caused Ben to kill himself with her hopeless longing. It wouldn’t be fair to expect happiness at such a price.
Chapter 2
Ryder answered Jean’s teasing questions about his latest jaunt, but his eyes kept going to Ivy. She felt them on her, curious, searching, and she was more nervous with him than she’d ever been.
“I said, do you want some more bacon, darling?” Jean asked her daughter for the second time, smiling as Ryder grimaced—he hated bacon.
“What? Oh, no, thanks, I’ve had enough.” Ivy smiled. She sipped her coffee slowly.
“You look as if you haven’t eaten for weeks,” Ryder observed, studying her over his empty plate. He was leaning back in his chair and he looked impossibly arrogant.
“She hardly eats anything,” Jean muttered, getting up from the table. “Talk some sense into her, Ryder, will you?” she called as she disappeared.
Ryder toyed with his cup, glancing up at Ivy with suddenly piercing gray eyes. “I think what you need most is to get away from things that remind you of the past. Just for a little while.”
She considered that. “That’s a nice thought,” she agreed. “But I have a total of twenty-eight dollars and thirty-five cents in my checking account...”
“Oh, hell, what do you think I’m suggesting, a tourist special with a sight-seeing jaunt by bus thrown in?” he grumbled. “Listen, honey, I’ve got a cabin in the north Georgia mountains, a villa in Nassau and a summer house in Jacksonville. Take your pick,” he said. “I’ll even fly you there myself.”
She smiled at him. “You’re a nice man, Ryder,” she said. “But I couldn’t.”
“Why not? I won’t try to seduce you,” he said, and smiled faintly, although there was no humor in his eyes. Her breath caught and he saw her stir restlessly at the suggestive remark. “I’m just offering you a vacation.”
“I’m not sure what I want to do, just yet,” she said, faltering.
“You aren’t afraid of me, are you?” he asked curiously. “Surely not, as long as we’ve know each other.”
She stared at him then, her eyes faintly hunted. “Yes,” she confessed. “I think I am, a little. Do you mind?”
His smile was gentle and puzzling. “As a matter of fact, Ivy, I don’t mind in the least,” he said. “I’m flattered.”
Despite her marriage, she felt frankly naive in some respects. She stared at Ryder curiously and thought that he’d probably had more women than most men she’d been acquainted with. The thought of Ryder in bed with a woman shocked her, angered her. She was grateful that her mother came back in time to spare her any more embarrassing remarks.
“I wrapped you up some biscuits to take with you,” Jean said, coming out of the pantry with a small sack in hand. She closed the door, picked up the coffeepot and returned to the table.
“You angel,” Ryder said, grinning. “Come home and cook for me. Ivy can feed herself.”
“Brute,” Ivy said indignantly.
“You have Kim Sun,” Jean reminded him as she refilled their cups. “By the way, where is he?”
“Shivering, I expect, and trying to make cherry crepes on an open hearth.” He sighed. “He’s making me a new dish for dinner.” He looked hunted. “Wouldn’t you like to invite me to dinner, and save me?”
“Kim Sun is a wonderful cook!” Jean burst out.
“When it comes to French pastry, maybe,” he muttered. “He’d gone through two pounds of flour when I left the house. I just asked him to fix me some eggs and he muttered something in Korean that I know I’d have fired him for, if I could have translated it.”
“He makes marvelous