Man Of Her Dreams
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The three of them pulled into the spacious lot by Beth’s condo, a place Beth couldn’t afford on her resident’s pay, but Grandma Hamilton had left trust funds to see that her grandchildren could live well.
Beth parked and waited for them by the elevator. Ry walked over to open Meg’s door, offering his hand to help her out. Just the touch of his hand set off those silly tingles again. It was absurd how her body seemed to be out of touch with her brain.
“Cool car,” he said, scanning her pride and joy, a white convertible with a tan top and tan leather interior. “Not particularly safe, but very cool.”
“Since when were you interested in safety, Motorcycle Man?” she challenged, more aware of his nearness than she ought to be. A soft breeze on her bare shoulders made her shiver.
“You’re cold,” he said, shrugging out of his leather jacket. “Put this on, and don’t give me any back talk.”
The jacket, warm from his body, did feel good, though not quite as good as his arm would have felt. She locked and slammed the car door shut, congratulating herself on remembering the keys. That ought to prove that Ry hadn’t muddled her mind.
“Did you want to take your purse in?” Ry asked, nodding toward it on the seat inside. “And the bag in the back?”
Of course she did. “Maybe I should,” she said, pretending she did have a brain.
She retrieved the purse and bag, locked the car again and tried to breathe in the small space between them. He took the bag and slung the strap over his shoulder.
“Hey, you two,” Beth called. “Come on up when you get tired of counting stars. I’ll put the coffee on.”
Ry glanced at the sky and dropped his free arm around her shoulder. “Stars,” he said. “That’s a bonus for the trip. You don’t notice stars much in a New York winter.”
The way he tucked her beside him, so casual and brotherly, was no call for the butterflies in her stomach to act up again or for her heart to race as if she were fourteen, not twice that.
But as long as she had a shoulder to lean on, she rested her head there, all the better to see those stars. “Do you like living in New York City?” she asked, proud that she could make small talk in spite of bodily chaos.
“Sure. It’s home.”
He snuggled her close, just a buddy thing, her mind insisted, though she shivered again.
He must have thought she was freezing, for he snuggled her closer. His chin nuzzled her forehead, a skin-to-skin move that set the butterflies spiraling.
“Ry, what are you doing?” she teased. Teasing, flirting, playing along—that was her operational mode, making this a fun trip for him to remember.
“What do you mean?” he asked innocently.
She looked up at him, checking his expression. A full grin cancelled the innocent act.
“I’m just keeping my best girl warm,” he claimed, flirt that he was.
His best girl? Not likely, but she could be that for tonight. Ry was a “love the one you’re with” kind of guy. Day after tomorrow, he would hop on that plane, probably find a new “best girl” among the passengers or have one waiting to drive him home from the airport. Meg would be lucky if she saw him again in another decade.
“Who’s your best girl in New York?” she teased, letting him know she didn’t take him seriously. “Or is there just one?”
He could get used to the way Meg felt, snuggled next to him, and he loved hearing her sass. It was getting more and more difficult to think of her as his buddy and pal. “You know me,” he said, hoping his drawl would disguise the state of his mind. “It’s my job to spread love around.”
She looked up at him, concern in those big eyes. “But aren’t you getting tired of that, Ry? Isn’t there someone you’d like to settle down with?”
Him, settle down? No, thank you. He’d had all the family life he ever wanted, but he couldn’t get enough of teasing Meg. “You’re not applying for the job, are you?”
“Me?” her voice squeaked. “Are you crazy?”
He laughed, chalking up a point for his side. “Why not you? You’ve become a real babe.”
“Wow, thanks,” she muttered, pushing out of his arms.
“Think about it, Meg,” he said, enjoying the game. “You could be my motorcycle mama, riding behind me on my Harley. What do you think?”
She whipped his jacket off and shoved it at him. “I think you’re just as goofy as ever, Ry Brennan.”
Maybe, but he still could push her buttons. He watched her swish away. No doubt about it. Meg had turned into a babe. Catching up with her, he said, “What’s the rush?”
She jabbed the elevator button and answered, “Beth will be wondering what’s happened to us.”
“Did anything happen to us?” he asked, baiting her just for fun, though he felt himself hold his breath, wondering what she would say.
The question startled her. He could see that, but she recovered fast. Her blue eyes flashing, she propped one hand on her hip and said, “Ry Brennan, it is not your job to make every female on this planet fall for you. As a person who has known you since you wore my mama’s high heels, I am exempt. Is that clear?”
Loud and clear. He laughed until he could scarcely catch a breath. He’d only done that once, and nobody knew it but her.
Meg congratulated herself on an excellent recovery. For a second, he’d gotten under her skin, but she’d made a good comeback. “Save that charm for silly women who don’t know you like I do. Give me back my bag,” she said, snatching it. “You don’t deserve to carry it.”
Ry laughed as if she were the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Well, great. She’d made him laugh. A New Year’s resolution had never been easier to carry out.
She watched him rock back and forth on his heels, his hands in his pants pockets, looking as happy as a kid on his way to recess. What a change from the way he’d looked in his parents’ study. The difference went straight to her heart.