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  “Christ,” she heard him mutter before he thrust deep twice more, then buried his face in her neck, broken breaths gusting over her skin as he shuddered in completion.

  Tate could feel the grasp of sleep tightening its hold on her. If she lay still and quiet for another minute she’d succumb. She needed to get up, redress, go home while she still had a miniscule amount of energy left.

  Ryan eased off the bed. She watched him stroll into the bathroom, all graceful rolling muscles and firm ass. She couldn’t help but smile. But then he turned on the shower and came back to where she lay, offering a hand to help her up.

  “Ryan,” she said feebly. “I should—”

  “You should be quiet and let me scrub your back.” A wicked grin curved his mouth. “And maybe your front, too.”

  Without further protest, he ushered her into the shower but didn’t join her right away. “I’m going to throw your clothes in the wash. Don’t collapse on me while I’m gone.”

  Tate moved beneath the hot spray, letting the warmth of the water ease the knots in her shoulders and neck that the sex hadn’t loosened. In a matter of minutes, he was back. He soaped up a mesh sponge, and she let him wash her from chin to toe. Then he shampooed her hair, his fingers working a subtle magic on her scalp. By the time he had her body thoroughly rinsed and dried, she was as limp as a used dishrag.

  “I didn’t intend to spend the night,” she murmured as he ran a comb through her damp hair. “Did you put my scrubs in the wash so I couldn’t leave?”

  “Maybe.” She met his eyes in the vanity mirror and saw not a trace of remorse. “You want to stay, though, don’t you?”

  She did.

  Aside from lacking the energy to drive home, she wanted to spend the night in Ryan’s arms. Since he’d reappeared, her staid, predictable world had been turned on its head, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that the empty places inside of her didn’t feel so cold and deserted anymore. Even if it was a temporary fix, she could no longer deny the craving for more of him, of them together.

  He’d always been so very good to her, up until the moment he vanished. Punishing them both by holding onto the anger wasn’t productive or healthy. He would tell her his reasons for leaving in due time, though she hoped it was sooner rather than later. She would just have to be patient and wait, as hard as that might be. Tate wasn’t known for possessing a great deal of patience. Now was a good time to start working on that.

  “Yes, I want to stay.”

  Chapter Six

  Ryan was finishing up the bacon when Tate shuffled into the kitchen, her eyes bleary from sleep and her hair a stunning tangle of brilliant color around her face. She’d found the clean T-shirt he’d left out for her, the hem of which hit her at the top of her creamy thighs. A little trace of white on her bottom lip told him she’d also found the new toothbrush he’d placed on the edge of the bathroom sink.

  He reached out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, dragging her to him for a minty kiss. “Morning,” he said before swiping the speck of toothpaste away with his thumb.

  “Morning. Thanks for…” She waved a hand at the shirt then in the general vicinity of her face.

  He grinned. Tate had never been very loquacious in the morning. “You’re welcome. Coffee?”

  “God, yes.”

  He poured her a cup and set it down on the bar while she slid onto a chair, and then he added a dollop of cream and waited to see if he’d gotten it right. She picked up a spoon and stirred it a few times before lifting it to her lips to take a hesitant sip.

  “How does an omelet with lots of cheese and veggies sound?”

  “Like heaven, only no onions or spinach, please.” She started to take another sip of coffee, then with a grimace said, “Or tomatoes or mushrooms.”

  Ryan laughed, shaking his head. “One cheese omelet, coming right up.”

  While he whisked the eggs, she munched on a piece of bacon. “I’m glad to see you didn’t turn into one of those fruity health nut chefs who are all about tofu and bean sprouts.”

  “I’m all about taste, baby. Bring on the butter and the pig fat.”

  She pointed at him with her strip of bacon. “I see big things in your future, young padawan.”

  “Speaking of the future…” When he glanced up, she’d frozen mid-chew. “Kevin’s in the early planning stages of another restaurant.”

  “Yeah?”

  “In Buckhead. He’s already found the space.”

  “Wow, fancy.”

  “Fancier than Bite.” Ryan poured the eggs into a skillet. “The menu won’t change much, mostly just the name and atmosphere.”

  “And he could double the prices and the residents of Buckhead won’t bat an eye.”

  “There’s that, too.”

  “So … is he going to hire another chef for the new place or ... will he—”

  “Run it himself?”

  She nodded.

  Admittedly, Ryan was baiting Tate to gauge her interest in their future, or rather the possibility that they might have a future. Kevin hinted that he might like Ryan to eventually run the new place, and Ryan was interested, but not if it meant causing problems for him and Tate. Not when their rekindled relationship remained as fragile as the eggshells he’d just cracked.

  “Kevin likes downtown.” He added the cheese to her omelet. “He’s mentioned making me head chef of the new place.”

  Tate clasped her cup like she was trying to warm her hands, staring down into her coffee. When she spoke again, her words were measured and exactly what he expected her to say. “That would be great for you.”

  Grabbing a plate from the cabinet, he slid her omelet onto it and set it down in front of her, then placed a fork and a napkin beside it. “There are some really good hospitals in Buckhead. There’s Piedmont and the Shepherd Center and—”

  “Don’t.” She let out a shuddering sigh, shaking her head. “You can’t factor me into any decision you need to make, Ryan.”

  “What if I want you to be a factor?”

  She stood abruptly, walking around the end of the bar to stop in front of him. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. Her deep green eyes held fire. For a second he thought she might be about to punch him. “You don’t get to do this to me again. I can’t let you back into my life, only to watch you walk out of it a second time! I don’t think I could survive it.” Tears filled her eyes, and she spun away from him, darting out of the kitchen.

  “Fuck.” That had backfired on him epically. “Tate, wait!”

  He’d lost her in his apartment until he heard her rummaging around in the laundry room. When he reached her, she was shaking out her scrubs, still damp and wrinkled from the washer.

  “Don’t go,” he said.

  She sniffed, trying to stuff one foot into her pants while she balanced on the other. He snatched them out of her hands and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind while she struggled to fight him off. All it did was make him hold on tighter.

  When she stopped squirming, he buried his face in her hair. “Listen to me. I’m not leaving you again, understand? I know I fucked everything up and you still don’t trust that I won’t hurt you a second time, but all I can do is prove it. In order to do that, you have to be around to watch.”

  He held her until he felt the stiffness gradually ebb out of her muscles, and even then he didn’t let go, only loosened his grip a little.

  “We should end this now before things get any deeper and out of hand. It’s not fair of me to hold you back from a promotion, and it’s not fair of you to put that kind of weight on our relationship when it won’t bear it this soon.”

  “All right, I admit bringing up the job was unfair and stupid. I wanted to gauge your reaction to the possibility, and I didn’t think it through to the end. I’m sorry for that, but at least you know I’m being honest with you.”

  “I like downtown, too,” she said quietly. “I like my hospital.”

  He whispered in her ear, “Do
you still like me?”

  When she didn’t answer right away, he kissed her shoulder where his shirt had slipped down her arm, brushing his stubbled chin across her skin just to feel her shiver against him.

  “You don’t fight fair,” she grumbled.

  “I offered to let you beat me up.”

  “And I might still take you up on it.” She turned around in his arms, flattening her hands on his chest. “Of course I still like you, but no more landmines, okay? I’m not good with subtleties, and I won’t be the reason you turn down a job you deserve.”

  “Buckhead is reachable by car, you know.”

  She scrunched up her face. “Maybe for you it is.”

  He kissed her mouth. “Damn, I’ve missed your stubborn ass.”

  ****

  Over the next two weeks they fell into a routine of sorts—sex, food, sleep, or some variation of the three at either Tate’s apartment or Ryan’s, depending on work schedules and fatigue levels. Tate wasn’t surprised to discover she’d gained seven pounds from his cooking. You would’ve thought all the sex would burn off some of the additional calories she was consuming, but what wasn’t being used up was settling on her ass. Time to start using the stairs exclusively at the hospital instead of the elevator. And maybe foregoing second helpings of Ryan’s amazing food. Unfortunately, like him, his dishes were hard to resist.

  It was Sunday, and they had a date. A real date, outside of their apartments, with him picking her up and everything. Wearing clothes. He’d told her to wear something casual that she’d be comfortable in outdoors.

  When Tate bounced down the stairs at one o’clock sharp dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a long-sleeve cotton t-shirt, Ryan was reclined against the seat of a sleek blue Kawasaki motorcycle, arms crossed over his broad chest, long legs crossed at the ankle. He was dressed similar to her. She had to stop walking for fear that she’d trip over her tongue. How was it possible for all that sexiness to be contained in one man’s body?

  The day was as beautiful as he was—a cloudless blue sky above their heads, the air crisp with temperatures in the high sixties, possibly creeping into the low seventies later. A perfect day to do something fun outside, which was such an anomaly for Tate. Normally her days off were spent catching up on laundry, paying bills, maybe watching a movie and getting eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. The fresh air would do her good.

  Ryan leaned in for a quick kiss, then tucked her sunglasses away inside a compartment on the bike while she cautiously eyed the machine, noting the second helmet strapped to the back of the seat.

  “Are we taking this?”

  “That’s up to you. I thought I’d give you the option if you’re up for it.”

  She distinctly heard the challenge in his voice. Was she up for streaking through the busy city streets of Atlanta on the back of a crotch rocket, arms wrapped tight around Ryan’s waist, ending up with helmet hair?

  “Hell, yes,” Tate said, beating back a wave of nervousness. She’d never touched a motorcycle before in her life, but she knew he’d take good care of her, and above all else it would be exhilarating, if not a wee bit scary. Okay, probably terrifying, but you only live once, right?

  He grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  “I figured as much. Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

  “You’ll like it, I promise. As far as the ride goes, just remember to relax and enjoy it. The first few times we turn a corner will feel strange to you. Your natural instinct will be to tense up and maybe fight gravity, and that’s normal, but you won’t fall off. Hold onto me and let your body do what mine does, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, despite the chalkiness of her mouth and the sweat dampening her upper lip.

  “Climb on.”

  Ryan helped her mount up, securing the chin strap on her helmet tightly, then flipped down the tinted visor on the front. He pointed out the pegs where she should rest her feet. Satisfied that she was ready to ride, he swung a long leg over the seat, strapped on his own helmet, and cranked the bike. Tate leaned into his back, wrapping her arms around his waist. He touched her hand once before grabbing the handlebars.

  “Ready?” he asked loudly, voice muffled by the face shield.

  Heart thumping wildly, Tate gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Hold on.”

  She tightened her arms around him, linking her fingers together, and Ryan took off out of her apartment complex.

  At first it was weird, like he’d said, getting used to the movement of the bike and fighting off the urge to tense up (or scream in terror) when they took a corner, and she was sure Ryan drove slower than he normally would if he’d been riding by himself. But after a few miles of weaving through traffic, she grew accustomed to the motion, trusting Ryan’s instincts, and relaxed against him.

  And she had to admit it was kind of a turn-on—two warm bodies pressed so closely together with what essentially amounted to a giant vibrator between their legs.

  They’d ridden for about fifteen minutes when she spotted Turner Field looming up ahead and figured out the surprise. She grinned at the back of his head, giving his waist a squeeze. He navigated the maze of parking, finding an area specifically for motorcycles, and rolled the bike to a smooth stop.

  He climbed off first before helping her do the same. Tate tugged off the helmet and sat it on the back of the bike, then fussed with her hair.

  “Tell me you liked the ride.”

  “I loved the ride.”

  He pumped his fist. “Yes. That’s my girl.”

  Those simple words sent a ridiculous amount of heat to her face and between her legs.

  From the same compartment where Ryan had stowed her sunglasses, he produced a pair of his own along with two Atlanta Braves baseball caps.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, “but I brought you one, too, so you wouldn’t fret about your hair.”

  Tate snatched the hat out of his hand and tugged it on, then donned her sunglasses. She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck to pull him down for a grateful kiss. He lingered on her mouth far longer than she expected, groaning at having to stop their very public display of affection.

  “Thanks for the surprises,” she said.

  “They’re not over yet.”

  Once Ryan had the helmets secured to the bike with some sort of long locking cable and the keys pocketed, he grabbed her hand, and they headed inside the ballpark.

  Memories came flooding back when the smells hit her—freshly mown grass, popcorn popping, stale beer, and hot dogs roasting—along with the many afternoons they’d spent here in what seemed like a lifetime ago. Eight years melted away to minutes. Suddenly it was just yesterday, Tate’s hand clasped in his as they made their way through the thick throng of fans to the cheap seats up in the nosebleed section of the stands. He’d held on like he was afraid he’d lose her in the crowd if he let go.

  Now he grasped her hand just as tightly, and Tate realized he’d never really lost her, even when something or someone had forced him to let go. The parts of her heart that had turned to solid ice after he left were all thawed out now with only a tiny spot or two of frostbite remaining. Maybe if he ever got around to telling her what had happened, those would go away, too. There’d been a few times lately where she’d sensed that he was about to unload, but then a shadow would darken his eyes, the moment would pass them by, and Tate pushed away her disappointment.

  He showed their tickets to an usher, and they were politely led to seats not far behind home plate. Well, this was a far cry from the old days when the players looked like little plastic Army men way down on the field below them.

  Tate let out a low whistle as they settled in. Both teams were on the field warming up, and they were so close she could’ve literally lobbed a baseball and hit one of them from where they sat, preferably a member of the Chicago Cubs since that’s who the opponent was for this game.


  “Well done, Mr. Hart. Well done.”

  “It helps to know people.” He winked.

  “And who might these people be who garner such primo seats this early in the season?”

  He nodded over Tate’s shoulder. “You’re about to meet them.”

  Chapter Seven

  Tate instantly recognized Kevin Lattimore as he weaved his way down the steps, a tall, gorgeous, dark-haired woman in tow. Every few feet someone would stop them for a handshake, a high-five, or a photo, and Kevin would graciously comply while behind him the girl’s expression said she was completely unaffected by the fact that she dated a local celebrity. If Tate wasn’t mistaken, she’d even rolled her eyes a few times.

  “That’s Kevin, my boss,” Ryan murmured close to her ear.

  “Who’s the woman?”

  “His girlfriend, Elle.”

  “She’s pretty,” Tate said, studying her objectively as they drew closer. Her outfit bordered on being Goth—ripped jeans, black boots, a tight black long-sleeve top with three-quarter length sleeves and a giant red letter A on the front, a tongue-in-cheek homage to The Scarlet Letter perhaps—and her hair was dark as midnight as well, brushing her shoulders in loose curls. Around her throat was a choker of some type—more black—but her face wasn’t heavily made-up. In fact it appeared she almost wore no make-up at all. Already Tate liked her, and they hadn’t even been introduced yet.

  “She’s a hoot,” Ryan said. “Wait until you meet her.”

  The two of them finally reached their row of seats, and Kevin stepped back to allow Elle to go ahead of him, keeping a guiding hand on her lower back. From the tender way they looked at each other, Tate could tell they were deeply in love.

  When Ryan stood, Tate followed suit, taking off her sunglasses and sliding them over the bill of her cap.

  “Tate, this is my boss, Kevin Lattimore, and his girlfriend, Elle Conner.”

  They shook hands. “It’s very nice to meet you both.”