Roughing it with Ryan
Autore
Jill Shalvis
Letto da
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Capitoli
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Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
SUZANNE CARTER glanced between the apartment-for-rent ads and the balance in her checkbook. No matter how much she squinted, added or subtracted, she was pretty much S.O.L.
With what she had, she’d be fortunate to get a place that had four walls and a roof, never mind such luxury items as hot water and a bathtub.
And yet, anything would be better than where she currently lived, which was nowhere. As of this morning, her fiancé—ex-fiancé, she reminded herself, her very ex-fiancé—had politely stacked her things outside the apartment they’d shared. Honest to God, she’d thought he’d been kidding.
Until her key hadn’t worked. Seemed the joke was on her. Damn if the joke wasn’t always on her.
In any case, she’d finally realized the truth. She was relationship cursed. If she hadn’t been, then she could blame any one of her other ex-fiancés—there had been three in total, not that she was counting—for the relationship failures, but the fault was hers alone. She seemed to possess the single-handed ability to destroy a good man. She’d destroyed Tim to the point he’d cried every night, wanting her to talk about her feelings, begging her to open up. She’d felt horrible, but deep down she knew she didn’t want a man who also cried at long-distance commercials and when he talked to his mother on the phone. Daily.
Not that Tim hadn’t helped commit their relationship to doom by getting caught performing sexual gymnastics against the front door with his cleaning lady. But he’d pinned that on Suzanne as well, saying his heart had been so broken by her distance and lack of commitment that he’d needed the release.
Uh-huh.
This latest relationship disaster only confirmed in her own mind that she was cursed. And so, as of this moment, she was vowing to give up men to save them from herself. Too bad no one could save her from these dismal rental listings. Maybe she should have fought for the apartment, but she no longer wanted it. With a sigh she lifted her red pen and circled the very cheapest ad in the paper she could find. That’s right, get thrifty, she could hear her mother say with approval. And regimented.
Everyone said Suzanne needed some regimentation. Well, everyone but her father, from whom she’d gotten her “lack of.” Just ask her mother.
The ad she’d circled boasted a cheap, cheap, cheap one bedroom/one bathroom walk-up. Cheap, cheap, cheap sounded right up Suzanne’s alley, given that, one, she was currently homeless with no savings, and two, contrary to popular belief, chefs made next to nothing. Home Sweet Home, she thought, she hoped, and got in her car.
Being a Monday, South Village was hopping in a way she still couldn’t get used to. When she’d been young, the area, just outside of Los Angeles, had been little more than an outdated, neglected area of commerce, the buildings all falling apart, the homeless camping on the corners. Then some historical committee had come along, and the next thing Suzanne knew, the place had incorporated and rebuilt itself, creating a delightful cosmopolitan area that people came from all over to visit.
It was considered the hot spot, filled with trendy cafés and restaurants, art galleries and unique shops, all designed to draw in urban singles by the BMW-load.
She managed to park her not-even-close-to-a-BMW at the correct address and pulled her sunglasses down her nose to get a better glimpse at the building. It didn’t help. No matter how she looked at it, the view was the same.
Bad. The building’s turrets, mock balconies and many windows, while charming, couldn’t quite disguise the fact that it needed major repairs—or demolition.
However, this was South Village, which meant that on either side of the falling-off-its-foundation-dump sat beauty personified. For blocks in either direction, all the other once decrepit old buildings had been restored to their former glory.
Not that she could afford one of those places. But that wasn’t the point, she reminded herself. Today was a new day, and a chance to prove to the world she could do this without screwing up and without bringing another man to ruin. This was her chance to learn to be responsible and mature. To be regimented.
Which, really, by the age of twenty-seven, she should have learned already. “So. It’s come to this,” she said to the building in front of her, and slid out of her car.
The bottom floor appeared to be meant for commercial use, though its glory days were long past. There were two storefronts, with surprising potential given the picture windows and brick work, but both were vacant and dark, the area out front overgrown with weeds.
Since the apartment listing read walk-up, she assumed she needed the second or third floor, and was sort of hoping maybe she’d gotten the wrong place altogether when the tree right next to her started to shake. It was an oak tree, full and majestic, one of many surrounding the building.
And it was shimmying and shaking like crazy.
In her next breath, a man dropped right out of the thing. And not some normal man either, but a tall, dark, leanly muscled man, and given his scowl, she could add attitude-ridden to the list.
Straightening his broad shoulders, she got a quick impression of wavy sable hair and deeply tanned features while he stared up at the tree. Still not noticing her, he shoved his sunglasses up on his head, then put his big hands against the huge trunk and…pushed?
Suzanne’s gaze dropped from the back of his head to his now straining body in shocked curiosity. For the life of her, she couldn’t look away.
He was beautiful.
Maybe beautiful was the wrong word, as it brought to mind female qualities and there was nothing feminine about this man and his superb form. Holy smokes, just looking at him, she needed a cup of ice to soothe her suddenly parched throat.
He wore faded Levi’s over legs that went on forever, and a white T-shirt that was sorely stressing at the seams against his working muscles, of which he seemed to have plenty. Not that he was overbuilt, no sirree, not like a bodybuilder, who in her opinion was usually over the top. No, this man was more like a long, lean boxer.
Not that it mattered! My God, she was so done with men. Had she forgotten she destroyed them on a fairly regular basis? She didn’t need yet another one on her conscience, thank you very much. But in spite of herself, her mouth dropped open a little as she took in his tough, sinewy back and shoulders, vibrating with power while he beat up this tree. He was quite determined about it, too.
But then he caught her staring. When he did, a smile crossed his face that transformed him from merely take-another-look to…wow.
“Sorry if I startled you,” he said and scooped up a discarded clipboard. And because she was weak, and he was so…yummy, she stared at his butt while he bent over, then jerked her gaze upward when he straightened.
Bad girl.
He had tanned, rugged features that spoke of an outdoor life, and dark, dark eyes, with the sort of laugh lines fanning out from them that would so horrify a woman but looked so sexy on a man. He made a quick note on the clipboard, and, whistling now, turned and entered the building.
What had he said? He was sorry to have startled her? Presumably because he’d dropped out of a tree like Tarzan.
If he only knew what had startled her was how he seemed to trigger everything feminine within her, despite the fact she wasn’t interested.
Not at all. Not even one little bit. She had a life to fix, and regimentation to put into it. Lifting her chin, she put Gorgeous Crazy Tree Guy right out of her mind and entered the building as well.
“Hello?” she called out. Her voice echoed and it appeared she was alone.
Not a gorgeous crazy tree guy in sight.
Taking the stairs to the second floor, she found two doors—both locked—presumably leading to apartments. From above she heard voices, so she took the stairs to the third and final floor, which opened to a loft apartment.
She stepped into what was probably meant to be a living room, but the room was empty and as filled with dust as the hallway had been. It was also small, yet the picture window facing the street somehow made it okay. Sunshine streamed in fully to the wooden floor, and as the dust bunnies danced through the air, Suzanne could see the place had potential.
Because the kitchen was separated by only a minibar, she could see two people standing in the cramped space, huddled over a set of blueprints laid out on the counter. The woman had a hand to her mouth, deep in concentration. As Suzanne’s sandals clicked across the floor, the woman looked up.
She appeared to be about Suzanne’s age, only that’s where the similarities ended. Unlike her own unruly Little Orphan Annie mop, this woman had glamour hair—blond and pulled back in a careful, elegant twist Suzanne could never manage to do for herself without pulling both arms out of their sockets. The woman also wore glamour makeup and glamour clothes to match. Surrounded by dust and the cramped loft, she looked as out of place as a princess on a frog’s lily pad.
Suzanne might have dwelled on that, and the fact that she always wrinkled whether or not she stood absolutely still, except that the man looked up, too.
It was him. Gorgeous Crazy Tree Guy.
He looked right at her, his big body dwarfing the small space. Wouldn’t you know it, his eyes were the perfect color of a double chocolate mocha—her favorite—and held an intensity that spoke of passion. She could have drowned in them.
If she hadn’t given up men. Which she had. A shame really, because he definitely had a face designed to tempt women—sort of saint and sinner all packed into one very well put together unit.
“Hi,” she said, a little self-consciously. “Is this the apartment marked in the paper as…” she unrolled the newspaper and quoted the ad, “Cheap, cheap, cheap?”
The woman laughed, not the snooty sound one might have expected either, and pushed at a nonexistent stray strand of hair with a long-fingered, well-manicured hand. “I hope that didn’t turn you off.”
“Are you kidding?” Suzanne pictured her own decidedly unhappy bank account. “It drew me here like a moth to the flame. How cheap exactly?”
“We’ll talk. But first…” She turned to the man. “Can we finish this later?”
“Later is going to be too late, Taylor.”
Suzanne should have guessed he’d have a tempting voice to go with that face, low and serrated and sexy. His face didn’t hide feelings, and at the moment he appeared to be highly annoyed as he rolled up the plans.
If the woman was annoyed back, she had too much class to let it show. “I need a tenant.”
“You need to fix those trees. Any one of them on the east side could blow over in the next good storm, which by the way, is due tonight.”
“Ryan.” She touched his arm, and Suzanne watched as the man gave in with a sigh.
Suzanne had never in her life tamed a man with just a touch, much less a man like that—a big hulk of a man who wouldn’t tame easily.
Was it the expensive clothes or the way the woman wore them, Suzanne wondered. Self-conscious, she ran her hand down her sundress, which was not only not in style with its long, flowing flowery skirt, but was wrinkled. She wore it because it hid her flaws, the biggest one being her fondness for her own cooking. A great fondness. As in ten extra pounds fondness.
“Relax, the weather channel is never right.” Taylor patted the man’s arm again. “Tomorrow will be soon enough to decide on the trees.”
He shook his head, his dissatisfaction showing in the tension in his big body, in the heat radiating in those riveting eyes.
Fascinated in spite of herself, Suzanne watched him. The men in her life—the only one at present being her father—never showed their real feelings. In the Carter household intense emotion was the source of great amusement, and all adversity was met with laughter. Footloose and fancy-free, that was the Carter family motto. Her fiancés had followed a similar pattern, hiding their emotions behind masks, even Tim with his big, teary eyes disguising his cheating, manipulative ways.
And until right this very moment she’d never once realized there was any other way for a man to be.
Gorgeous Tree Guy—Ryan—brushed past her with an acknowledging nod. Their shoulders touched, his mouth curving slightly in apology.
Embarrassing to admit, but her pulse scrambled and she craned her neck to watch him go. Apparently deciding she was cursed and swearing off relationships didn’t affect the lust genes from operating.
“Yeah.” Taylor had come to stand beside her. “He’s quite fine.”
Suzanne agreed, but kept her opinion to herself.
“And though he’s far too kind to show it, he’s royally pissed at me at the moment.” She gave an elegant shrug. “He’ll live.”
They both moved to the door to watch him vanish down the stairs, momentarily absorbed in the way his T-shirt so nicely outlined his wide shoulders and strong back, and then there were those jeans, so lovingly cupping his long, well-defined legs, not to mention the best-looking butt Suzanne had ever seen.
The woman standing next to her—looking far more suited for a fancy luncheon than standing in the dusty room—sighed lustily, then shrugged it off. “So. I’m Taylor Wellington. I placed the ad. Do you want the apartment?”
Suzanne might have utterly failed in the love department—three times—but she hadn’t been born yesterday. “I think I should see the rest of it first.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.” Taylor took a look around her, then cut her gaze back to Suzanne’s. “Just remember, it’s cheap, okay? Really cheap. Now here’s the bedroom, just off the front here.” She opened a door that Suzanne had assumed was a closet.
It wasn’t much bigger than one, but it did have a window to the street, where she could see an array of shops and galleries, and people walking up and down the sidewalks. It charmed her, and was infinitively better than sleeping in her car.
Then she caught the sign for the shop directly across the street and her heart leaped. “An ice-cream shop?”
“Open until 11:00 every night,” Taylor confirmed. “You just keep that in mind now, as you look at the bathroom.”
The bathroom was the size of a postage stamp. No tub, Suzanne thought with a sigh, but it had all the basics—a shower, a sink and a commode.
“Everything’s in working order,” Taylor promised. “That is if you don’t try to make toast and use a hair dryer at the same time. And hey, with a good scrubbing, the place might even be cute. What do you think?”
“I think if the price is right, I’ll take it.”
“The price is right,” Taylor promised. “Come with me downstairs, I have the forms. When would you move in?”
Suzanne thought of her belongings all wedged into her car. “I hope now is good.”
Taylor laughed. “If you have first and last month’s rent, plus a small security deposit, now is perfect.”
Damn. “Uh…how attached to the security deposit idea are you?”
Nicole stopped and looked her over. “Hurting for cash?”
“You could say that.” Tim had let her purchase his very expensive bedroom furniture with her savings several weeks ago. Furniture he now claimed had been her gift to him. Gift, ha! She could have fed a small country for a year on what she’d paid. Odd how mad that made her now, when she’d so happily given him everything only a month ago. “But I do have a job,” she said positively, which was true. “Will that help?”
“Yes, a job is good.” Taylor thought it over. “We can skip the deposit.”
They started down the stairs again, Taylor in her fancy wear, looking like royalty visiting the slums, and Suzanne with her gypsy dress, fitting right into her immediate surroundings.
“What is it that you do?” Taylor asked.
“I’m a chef at Café Meridian.” As Suzanne mentioned the café only about five blocks from this very spot, a flicker of unease rolled over her shoulders. She’d moved up from a less esteemed kitchen when Tim’s sister had purchased the place and Tim had insisted Suzanne would love working for his sister.
Now that they had broken up, Suzanne hoped it wouldn’t be awkward to continue working there. Though she’d taken less money than she’d wanted to, she loved the job.
Okay, so she loved food. Period. But she needed the job. Without it, she’d have to rely on her catering, which was simply a hobby and would stay that way. Running a business would be…well, too regimented. Far too regimented.
Sorry, Mom.
Carters in general—meaning her and her dad—didn’t do serious. Which was why her mother couldn’t talk to either of them without her jaw getting all bunched up. Her father was still a struggling stand-up comedian at nearly sixty years of age. On the outside it looked like he was a slacker left over from an age when that was a good thing, but the truth was, he loved his carefree life. Material possessions and corporate success meant less to him than his freedom.
Suzanne, according to her mother, was a chip off the old block.
She and Taylor came to the second floor landing, where Taylor unlocked one of the two apartments, then gestured for Suzanne to enter. “This is my place.”
Suzanne stood in the empty living room not so different from the one on the floor above, except this place had been cleaned spotless. “But it’s…empty.”
“I’ve just moved in myself, and into the bedroom only. The rest is a job for this week.”
“You own the building?”
Taylor slid a very tasteful beige pump, which probably cost more than Suzanne’s entire wardrobe, over the smooth floor. “I do now.”
“Pardon my frankness, but you’re dressed to the nines, dripping elegance and sophistication, and yet I have the strangest feeling that you don’t have any more money than I do.”
Taylor sighed and rolled her head on her neck. “What gave me away? The not wanting to put money into the trees?”
“Let’s just say desperation recognizes desperation.”
Taylor laughed. “You know what? I like you. Okay, here’s the humiliating truth. I grew up with the proverbial silver spoon in my mouth—the best of schools, the whole works. College at Brown University, courtesy of Great-Grandpa’s Swiss bank account. After graduation, I traveled Europe for fun.”
“Also on Grandpa’s Swiss bank account?” Suzanne guessed, and when Taylor nodded, she shook her head. “I’m not feeling sorry for you yet.”
“I know, we’re getting to that.” Taylor lifted her hands in a surrendering gesture. “I was spoiled rotten, I admit it. I never worked a day in my life, never worried about money, nothing. Then Grandpa, who I only saw every few years when he felt the need to see firsthand how his money was paying off, up and died on me.”
“How inconsiderate,” Suzanne murmured.
“But he left me this building.”
“It’s prime real estate. It’s got to be worth a for tune.”
“Yeah, if you have a fortune to spend on it.” Taylor grimaced. “He didn’t leave me any money to go with it, not one single dime. I’ve never had to save money and I don’t have a job so I’m flat broke.”
“Except for this building.”
“Except for this building,” she agreed. “Obviously I need tenants, as I’ve found I’m rather fond of eating.
I figure I can get cash flow from the rentals. And as it all starts to come in, I promise to fix the place up. If you want to help, I’ll give you a break on the rent. So…still want the loft?”
Suzanne might have grown up with her comedian father, who thought everything was a joke, but she did have a brain. “Why not just sell and pocket the dough?”
Taylor vehemently shook her head. Not a single hair fell out of place. “Cave on my first real challenge? No way.”
Suzanne felt herself let loose a genuine smile—her first since finding her belongings stacked in the hall and the locks changed. “You know, I think I like you back.”
Taylor’s return smile came slow and easy. “Good.” There seemed to be relief in that smile. “Here are the rental forms. Just you, right?”
“Just me. Single forever, from this point on.”
“Ah. Something else we have in common.”
“I mean it. I’m…” What the hell. “I am relationship cursed.”
Taylor laughed, then when Suzanne didn’t, her laughter faded. “You’re…not kidding.”
“Not on this, believe me.” She lifted a hand and made a solemn vow. “No matter what the temptation, I shall resist.”
“I’m with you. No matter the temptation,” Taylor agreed just as solemnly. “Even temptation in the form of a magnificent tree man with an ass that makes my knees weak.”
Suzanne’s lips twitched. “Even that.” She signed on the dotted line.
“To us,” the pretty blonde said, lifting an imaginary toast. “And a prosperous future all on our own. No men. Soon as I can afford it, I’ll buy real champagne to toast with.”
“To us,” Suzanne agreed with a smile. “Good luck, Taylor.”
“And to you, Suzanne.”
Suzanne raised both her imaginary glass and her gaze to the ceiling, picturing her loft above.
Luck? She, for one, was going to need it.
